


Choices Made

by blackchaps



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Biting, Clint's in the vents, Coulson loses his cool, Dom/sub, First Time, Guns, Knotting, M/M, Violence, alpha dynamics, injuries, sniffing, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye takes a job he shouldn't, and Agent Coulson catches him. Chaos ensues. If only Clint didn't smell like cookies, Coulson's job would be  a lot easier. If Coulson would act like a normal alpha, Hawkeye would feel a lot better about biting the shit out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices Made

********

Opening his mouth to suck a deep breath, Clint just knew he screwed. The dim scent of an alpha lingered in the air, and it was the same damn one as the last job. He was being hunted, and this time he didn’t have an exit plan. It had seemed like an easy rooftop job. One shot, down and gone, but he should’ve known. Easy jobs always sucked for one reason or another.

His target turned, presenting a full-on kill shot, dead easy in the Vegas lights. Clint hesitated. He never did that, but this time was different, and all the information tumbled through his head again. He was fairly sure he was being paid to kill a man whose only crime was being a playboy and an idiot. It didn’t set well in Clint’s gut, and with a sigh of true disgust in himself, he released the tension on his bow.

The bang of a door being thrown open and a curse reached his ears, and the moment was over. His target would live another day, and it was time to run. Abandoning his bow hurt, but it would slow him down too much. He’d take the money he had squirreled away and find a spot in Mexico until he was off the radar of whichever agency was after him. When he’d started this, he’d thought it would take longer to make a name for himself, but he was never lucky.

The wind whipped leaves about as he launched himself to the next roof, and he could smell him. The guy was good, but Clint was better, and he pushed himself. Down a ladder, across another roof, and a big jump took him closer to the ground, but the scent at his back brought him the bad news. He wasn’t gaining on him.

“Stop! Federal agents!”

“Fuck that,” Clint growled, ducking behind an air conditioner unit and throwing himself at the fire escape. He went down the backside, dropping from one handhold to the next, swinging into a flip and landing in a brick alley.

“I will shoot!”

There was little doubt of that, and that made Clint sprint off even faster, trying to stay in the shadows and cursing all the damn lights that made Vegas shine. Pounding footsteps reached his ears, and he hated his life. There was probably one agent in America in good enough shape to catch him and that guy was right behind him.

Clint scrambled up a fence, levered his body over, and wasted no time scurrying through the back door of a Chinese restaurant. He rolled under a prep table, danced around a murderous-looking grandma, and pounded for the front door, making it in record time. Out on the street, he was one minute from disappearing when he heard.

“One more time. I will shoot.”

Three choices were all that was left to him, and he never really considered the lady with the stroller. He ducked and ran for the alley not more than five feet away, diving into a roll to make himself less of a target.

The shot was loud in his ears, and it threw him to the ground. Between one breath and the next, a knee dug into his back. “Stay down!”

“Get the fuck off me!” Pain from his leg made him want to curl and cry, but he squirmed and fought for a handhold, refusing to quit even when the guy managed to get a cuff on one wrist. They cursed and rolled, and Clint didn’t panic until the guy’s face crammed into Clint’s neck.

“You’re--.”

Clint got his hand on his emergency ‘I’m so fucked’ knife’ and slashed, cutting the words off to be replaced by a yell.

“I’m the guy you’re never going to catch,” Clint gloated, not worried about his cuffed wrist, fighting his way to his feet, blood smeared between them. One breath later, three guys took him to the concrete, and the lights went out.

********

“Coulson!”

“I’m okay.” Coulson used the wall to get to his feet, tempted by spite to kick the unconscious assassin while he was down. “A few stitches is all I’ll need.”

“I can’t believe you caught him. The director is going to love you for it.” Sitwell grinned, giving the assassin a nudge with his shoe.

Coulson pushed him away. “Don’t touch him,” he growled, unsure where the words came from but not backing down either. “Medical?”

“Three minutes out.”

“Get him to a rage room as soon as he’s treated.” Coulson saw their surprise. “Unless you think you can catch him?”

No one met his eyes. “Right away, sir.”

Sitwell was still grinning. “That was epic!”

“Whatever.” Coulson clasped his hand tight to his forearm, blood ruining the fabric, and he determined to get the money for this suit out of his assassin somehow. The guy had to have a stash. Coulson took a deep breath, still smelling it under the blood splattered everywhere. He was sure no one could sense it but him. He’d been chasing this particular assassin for six months, and he’d have never guessed what one sniff had confirmed. The infamous Hawkeye was a submissive.

********

The smells told Clint he was in a hospital, and he made damn sure not to even twitch, keeping his breath steady and opening his mouth just a tiny bit. No human scent, and he was up, yanking out the IV and popping off the monitors. By the time the alarm went off, he was stripping the vent cover out of the wall and diving inside. He replaced it with shaking fingers, contorting his body like an acrobat, and started crawling, wanting to curse his leg. There was no time for weakness. Run, fight, and run some more were his only choices.

“Where’d he go?”

“What the hell?”

Pain made him a little light-headed, but he kept moving, glad the scrubs slid easily across the sheet metal. He’d steal new clothes as soon as he could get out of the building.

“Lockdown!”

“Lockdown!”

That didn’t sound good, and Clint took the first right, not caring where it led. He forced himself to breathe at a steady pace, not slapping the metal. Stopping, he listened. It was impossible to hear anything over the siren, and he didn’t remember any hospital security ever having one of those. The vent started to incline up, and he pushed his body to the limit, fast and quiet. It felt like hours before he caught a whiff of fresh air, and relief made him grin, kicking off the last vent and scooting out, hand clenched around his pounding thigh.

“Going somewhere, Hawkeye?”

“Fuck.” Clint swayed, taking it all in with a quick glance. "Not a hospital.”

“Aircraft carrier, sorta.”

Clint took two steps back, only staggering a little and considering if the ocean was a solution.

“I will shoot you to stop you from jumping.”

“I believe you.” Clint did, hating this particular agent with a passion. His leg throbbed, but he shoved the pain aside. “I might want a bullet.”

“In your other leg?”

It was the smirk that drove Clint to fury. He let his leg crumble, gasping, and sure enough, the agent came straight to him, reaching to help. Clint grabbed hold of the guy’s bandaged arm and did his best to rip him apart.

********

Nothing made Coulson angrier than incompetence in the face of direct orders. The blaring alarm signaled more than Hawkeye’s escape; it was also a clue that his men were idiots. Coulson shrugged his shirt over his bandaged arm and winced as he slid on his jacket. Two agents dashed to a stop inside his room, mouths gaping open like incompetent fish.

“What part of rage room confused you?” he roared.

Both of the junior agents blanched and cringed. “You said after treatment, sir. He was on an IV.”

“Rage room means the instant someone is declared not dead, you drag them there!” Coulson narrowed his eyes. “He’s probably jumped on a shark and hitched a ride to shore by now! And turn off that damn siren!”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison and fled the room. Coulson rubbed his forehead, hating his life during the short walk to Hawkeye’s hospital room. He should’ve insisted on bunking with the assassin. Hawkeye could be anywhere by now, and it was a damn big ship. Coulson surveyed the room, noticing the hanging IV and a streak of blood on the floor. Hawkeye was incredible, just batshit crazy, and Coulson growled low and long. One more look around the room, and he squinted at the vent on the far wall by the floor. It was off-set by a quarter of an inch. He knelt and pulled it away without having to exert himself. Opening his mouth, he took a deep breath.

Hawkeye. The scent was unmistakable. Coulson got to his feet, dropping the vent with a clang. He needed some schematics, fast, or he’d spend another six months trailing the amazing Hawkeye while everyone on the ship laughed their asses off at him.

Thirty minutes later, Coulson had a plan and a painkiller under his belt. He shucked his jacket, made sure his gun was loaded, and took the time to answer the phone call from the director.

“Sir?”

“What the ever-loving hell, Cheese?”

“I know. I know. I’m going.” Coulson hung up his phone and strode through the ship like the angel of doom. Three agents ducked into rooms rather than face him, and one hid his face while cowering against a wall. Coulson was going to take the time to slap everyone on the back of the head as soon as he had Hawkeye in custody. Again.

It was too easy to taunt him. The pleasure of being one step ahead made Coulson a little cocky. Hawkeye swayed on his feet, looking about five minutes from collapse, and when Hawkeye’s leg gave out, Coulson moved from instinct. The hand that tore at his stitches was a complete surprise.

“You little shit!”

“Fuck you, agent man!”

Hawkeye was a damn, dirty fighter, and Coulson respected that while wishing it wasn’t directed at his balls. Personnel began to encircle them as they punched, blocked, and grunted. Coulson wasn’t proud that it took chopping Hawkeye in his bad leg to bring him down. Hawkeye growled, thrashing as Coulson straddled Hawkeye’s hips and cuffed him in record time.

“Get off me!”

Coulson eased to one knee and let Hawkeye roll over. Hawkeye jerked up, and Coulson’s mind went from smug to agony. He might’ve been screaming, cursing definitely, and he was sure people back at port could hear his cries on the wind. It took two guys to get Hawkeye’s teeth out of him, and Coulson had never wanted to kick a man in the balls any more than he did right now. Another fucking suit ruined.

“Sir, that’s gonna need stitches.”

“Ya think?” Coulson might’ve screamed. His thigh – and trousers – were shredded. “Get him to the damn rage room! I’m going for a tetanus shot!”

A big, burly alpha grabbed Hawkeye by the neck and shook him, and Hawkeye nailed the guy right in the nuts. Coulson sighed from the bottom of his soul, spotted Sitwell laughing, grabbed the taser off Sitwell’s hip, and hit Hawkeye right in the back with it.

Hawkeye finally went down, but Coulson made sure his heartbeat was strong before enlisting two alphas to carry him below. Their hands on him made Coulson growl under his breath, but that was ridiculous.

“Want me to beat some sense into him?” Sitwell asked.

Coulson couldn’t fight back the snort of laughter. “Update your will first. I’m heading to medical. No one in his room until I get there. No one.”

“Yes, sir.” Sitwell grinned. Coulson rolled his eyes and starting limping. His cell phone rang halfway there, and ignoring it was out of the question. He leaned against a wall and hated his job.

“I haven’t laughed so hard since Nairobi.” Fury sounded as if he were still chuckling.

“Two suits. He owes me two suits!” Coulson was not amused.

“Why didn’t he grab for your gun?” Fury asked the relevant question, like always.

“Because he wanted to bite the shit out of me.” Coulson started moving again, hating the feel of blood tracing down his leg. “I know. I know.” He closed the connection and continued his painful way to medical.

********

Every muscle in Clint’s body ached, and his leg felt like it was on fire, but he was up and scrambling for a wall to put at his back before his eyes cleared. He couldn’t smell anyone; his mouth still tasting of blood. He grinned, hoping he’d given rabies to the damn alpha.

He took a good look around the… rage room. That was what his agent of doom had called it. Clint was in the rage room, and he tucked himself in a corner, scanning for a door and not finding one. The ceiling was too high to reach, no furniture, nothing but padded walls and floor. He’d have one chance to bolt and that was when they opened the door to question, and torture, him. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, knowing that it wasn’t worth the effort. He was on an aircraft carrier. There was no escape but death, and he rested his head against the wall to wait.

When the door finally opened, seamless and indistinguishable from the rest of the wall, Clint didn’t bother to try to rush it. The agent was back, and honestly, he looked pissed. Clint hunched his shoulders, baring his teeth and wishing the cuffs were off. Then, he’d have a fighting chance.

The agent shut the door and stood there. He said nothing, and he made no threatening moves. Clint opened his mouth and tasted irritation, but if the guy didn’t want to talk, that was okay. Fine, even. The seconds turned to minutes, and Clint knew he was being played. This was a test, and there was no telling whether silence was a good decision or not. He probably should try to stand.

“This has been our best conversation to date.”

Clint didn’t answer, feeling as if he were out of his depth.

“I’m honestly surprised you didn’t mug me in the doorway.”

With a shrug, Clint decided to play the game, licking his lips. “Considered it. You scream very pretty and your blood tastes delicious.”

“Thanks.” The guy shifted until he was leaning against a wall. “For a first date, it went well.”

Unable to help himself, Clint grinned, showing off his bloody teeth. “Why are you even here? I thought you’d send alphas in here to teach me my place.”

“You’d kill them, and Shield has a shortage of good alphas.”

They shared a grin, and Clint was ready to know the truth now. “You here to kill me?”

“My boss wants a report and a recommendation within the hour, yes.”

Clint knew what that recommendation would be. After all, he’d tried to chew the guy’s leg off. He let his head thump back and shut his eyes. When the guy shifted on his feet, Clint was up and ready to fight in a blink. He didn’t think about it. It just happened.

“Easy. You’re not up to round three.”

“Come close and you’ll see what I’m up to, asshole,” Clint snarled.

“Agent Phil Coulson, not asshole.”

“All alphas are the same.” Clint swayed. His leg threatened to give out, and his wrists ached. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was at the end of the line. He gasped, feeling light-headed, but he noticed Coulson wasn’t stupid enough to get close this time. Clint collapsed back to the padded floor. “Did you bring me here to torture me? You should’ve taken the kill shot on the street!”

“Maybe.” Coulson stepped closer. His scent changed to something earthier, and Clint needed to find some energy to fight him off. Clint snapped his teeth at him, and Coulson raised his hands. “Not interested in that with an assassin carnie, thanks. I thought I’d take the cuffs off, if you want.”

“Not a fucking carnie. I was a headliner circus artist, recruited by Ringlings at one point. I’m the best damn marksman in the world, and one more step will put your new stitches in danger of being ripped out!”

“Settle down.” Coulson reached in his pocket and produced a handcuff key. He smelled worried now, anxious, but not scared. “I’ll step right away.”

Clint breathed hard through his mouth, hating to trust him an inch, but he supposed it didn’t matter. “I guess I’d rather face my bullet with my hands free.” He found a tiny bit of push and got to his feet, leaning his head against the padded wall. “Don’t touch me.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Coulson snorted, but their hands brushed as the cuffs were unwound from Clint’s aching wrists. “Submissives don’t make good assassins.”

“I smelled you at the job before this one.” Clint pivoted and snapped out his foot. Coulson moved back fast, dodging the blow, but Clint was finished, falling to the mat. He crawled to his corner, desperate to get feeling back in his hands. “I should’ve skipped to Mexico.”

“Probably.” Coulson put his hands on his hips. “While this conversation has been enlightening, I’m due upstairs.”

Clint knew what that meant. “Hey, you do it, okay? You caught me. You kill me.”

Coulson’s eyes darted around the room, and he licked his lips. He shrugged, said nothing, and another suit pushed the door open so Coulson could leave. Clint waited for the new guy to stay, maybe try to push the weak submissive around, but that didn’t happen. The door shut, and there was nothing left to say, or do. He cast a look up at the camera in the ceiling and crawled to the corner behind the door. He’d go out fighting.

********

“There’s no quit in that boy.”

“He’ll curse me with his last breath,” Coulson said, sipping some coffee, not even glancing at the security feed to the rage room.

The door creaked open, and a medic popped inside. “Here’s that blood work you asked for, sir.”

“Thanks.” Fury took the folder and slid it down the desk to Coulson. When the medic was gone, Fury pointed at it. “I think he’s an alpha.”

Coulson laughed. “But you haven’t buried your nose in his neck. He’s a submissive, smelled like…” he trailed off before he gave away how good it had been.

Fury raised his eyebrow. “Cheese, he’s a top-line submissive, like Stark, just as liable to kick you in the balls as do you a favor. It’d take a strong alpha to keep up with him.”

That was entirely possible, but Coulson wanted to investigate further before making up his mind. “If that’s true, then you should take over his case. He’ll respect you.”

“You caught him.” And Fury smirked.

“I hate you, sir.” Coulson finished his coffee in one big gulp. Now he looked at the filthy, crumpled man crashed out behind the rage room door. Hawkeye would no doubt come up fighting the instant the door opened. Any other person would’ve looked pitiful, but he managed to pull off defiant even when half asleep. Coulson rubbed his face, wincing at the bruise on his cheek, and nodded. “I’m going to have to devote some time to him.”

“I’ll clear your schedule.” Fury sounded satisfied. “We’re going to need him later.”

Coulson didn’t ask what for or why. He collected the folder, still unsure that Hawkeye was a true alpha submissive. They were damn rare, usually geniuses, and if Stark was any example, they were also huge problems for rational people. Coulson gave Fury a half-hearted salute and limped down to his office. He cued up the rage room camera on his computer, sitting down with a groan to read the folders. After that, he’d make a list.

He picked up his phone. “Please have someone deliver a taser to my office.”

********

He wasn’t ready when the door opened, but Clint sure as hell wasn’t taking a bullet to the brain on his knees. Cursing, he stumbled up and growled, determined to fight it out. His blurry eyes searched frantically for someone to punch, but there was no one. Not a soul. Just an open door, and he breathed deep, trying to smell his opponent.

“Mr. Hawkeye? Would you please come out? Agent Coulson has ordered us to take care of your leg and any other health problems you have.” A man’s voice came through the door, but it was clear that he was far back.

Clint blinked, mind stalled, taking in the scents of four people, and none of them were alphas.

“Mr. Hawkeye? Please? We really don’t want to get in trouble with Agent Coulson. He outranks us by six levels, and he has a tendency to shoot people when he’s upset.”

Now that was the truth, and Clint edged out the door, spotting the medical team and their gurney cowering by the opposite wall. The way to another door wasn’t blocked, but his leg laughed at the idea of running for it.

“I’m okay,” Clint said, knowing how stupid it sounded.

“Let us help? Please?” The nurse didn’t step closer.

“I guess Coulson decided not to shoot me. Again.” Hawkeye could smell their honest concern, laced with a touch of fear. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Promise?” The guy, tall and thin, kept his eyes downcast.

“I’m not some stupid alpha. Just… tell me before you do it, and no sedatives.” Clint made sure to glare on the last part, and all of them swallowed hard. His flash of guilt made him sigh. “Okay?”

“I promise, and they do too.” He waved at his team. “I’m Ronald, by the way.”

“Clint.” Clint almost winced at how stupid he sounded. “Can I walk to medical?”

“Will you get on a bed when we get there?”

“Are you going to cuff me to it?” Clint demanded.

“Absolutely not. Agent Coulson was very firm on that point, and honestly, he scares the shit out of me. So do you, but I work for him, and I heard the last two guys who disobeyed him in regards to your health had to swim to shore. I can’t swim.”

The honest groveling was damn annoying, and if the guy had been an alpha, Clint would’ve punched him. But all the nurses were submissives, and they smelled like today was their worst day ever, and it was his fault.

They all fell quiet, hands twitching, and he figured if this was a trap, it was a damn good one. “Okay, go first. I’ll follow you.”

Two of the nurses hot-footed it for the door and didn’t look back. Ronald and one other lady were made of sterner stuff, but they didn’t hesitate either, pushing the gurney between them. Clint grabbed hold of his leg and limped after them, not sure why he had agreed to this but glad to be out of the stupid rage room. His leg also burned like infection was the name of the game.

Ronald’s voice drifted back to him. “Just to be clear. What should we do if you pass out?”

“Not gonna happen,” Clint growled, hoping it wasn’t too much further, and he was definitely leaning against the wall when the nurses finally turned to hold a door open for him. He made them go through first, and then rested against the doorjamb. It was a hospital room. Nothing more, and it was even kinda nice with art on the walls and a connecting bathroom. In the corner, near the bed, leaned his bow, and his heart might’ve made his mouth make an embarrassing noise. He limped to it, making sure he didn’t sob or do something stupid like cry. “If this is a joke, Coulson is one cruel bastard.”

“Not a joke as far as I know, and I’ve never spoken to him before today. There’s a rumor he’s a robot, or a life model decoy, but--.”

“Shut up, Ronald,” Clint said with no anger, stroking his bow to check for nicks. He found nothing he couldn’t polish out, and he staggered to the bed, taking it with him. Ronald smiled and helped him get settled, bow tucked against his side. The string hung loose, of course, and Clint cursed the idiot who had cut it, instead of removing it properly. “What are you waiting for? Fix my leg.”

“Yes, sir.” Ronald grinned, and the team descended on him. Clint ignored them, hands busy with his baby. He bared his teeth at the submissive who put in the IV. “No sedatives.”

“N-n-n-no, sir. Antibiotics. Your leg is infected, and you’re dehydrated,” she whispered, keeping her eyes down.

“Girl, grow a backbone, or the alphas are going to eat you alive,” Clint said, not in a mean way. She taped the needle to his arm with a gentle touch, and he hoped she never bumped into the alphas that Clint had in his lifetime.

Ronald pulled the chair closer with a screech on the linoleum floor. “Okay, we need to do two things. Cut off those filthy scrubs and wash you, checking for bruises and cuts as we go.”

“No fucking way.” Clint sat up a little straighter, ready to fight his way out of the room. He’d be careful not to hurt them. “Not gonna happen.”

“You smell. Bad.” Ronald hunched his shoulders. “Sir.”

“Okay, stop with that. I can limp to the shower.” Clint kept his hand on his bow.

“Dragging your IV?”

“I see why Coulson picked you for this detail,” Clint grumbled. He couldn’t get off this gurney to save himself. He knew that. “Fine. Just you. Send everyone else away, and if an alpha pokes his, or her, head in this room, I’m killing someone.”

Face pale, Ronald nodded a bit too fast. “I’ll shut the blinds, lock the door, and we shall never speak of this.”

“I kinda hate that I like you.” Clint pointed at the surveillance camera over the door. “And throw something over that. Also, I do any cutting.”

Ronald stared up it. “I thought that was the sprinkler system.”

“No.” Clint scanned the walls and ceiling. “And the one over there, too.”

“I’ll get some towels.” Ronald left the door open, and eventually it was just the two of them, a package of warm wipes, and scissors. “Ready?”

“No, but let’s get it over with.” Clint stripped off the top, cutting the sleeve so it could drop off around the IV line. Ronald kept his face turned away. He handed Clint a warm wipe. Clint rolled his eyes. “Ronald, I’m not going to bite you if you help me clean up.”

“You sure? Because Agent Coulson has eight stitches in his thigh. Three inches higher and you’d have gnawed his balls off, and I like my nutsack. A lot.” Ronald gave him a fast glance, eyes tracking up and down. “You have a lot of scars.”

“Yes, I do.” Clint wasn’t proud of his body. “Coulson started the fight. I just finished it. Now help, but touch those scissors and I’ll kill you.”

“I do not get paid enough for this,” Ronald muttered.

********

The painkiller wore off far too soon, and Coulson found himself at his desk, picking at the suit material covering his leg over and over again, making sure it didn’t rub against the bite Hawkeye had given him. Paperwork was also going to have to wait because his arm ached. He eased up, tried to stretch without hurting anything and groaned. His leg felt terrible, easily ten times worse than his arm. Carefully, he undid his belt and slid his pants down for a quick look.

Ow.

“The human mouth is a filthy place,” Coulson muttered, not wanting to think about the last time Hawkeye had brushed his teeth. “Damn it.”

There was no help for it. He’d have to go to medical. Infected was infected. He glanced at the live feed from Hawkeye’s room and was surprised when the nurse threw a towel up and over the camera lens. Coulson switched views, and that one was quickly covered as well. He cranked the audio, listening to them bicker about dirt and scissors. The first part of the plan was going off without a hitch, but he was worried for when Hawkeye was well enough to escape into the ventilation system again.

Coulson winced as he started for medical, hating that he had to go, but very much against his leg rotting away. He was met by a doctor that he knew well, Dr. Chavez, who was in charge of the infirmary.

“Infected. Did you take the pills? Oh course you didn’t.” Chavez rolled his eyes. “Nurse, put him in bay two, broad spectrum antibiotics by IV.”

“You haven’t even examined me yet!” Coulson protested. He craned his neck to spot Hawkeye’s closed door. “How’s the--?”

“Your pet is fine. Ronald has him in hand, and I thoroughly resent the way Hawkeye has used his charm to form a harem with all my submissives.” Chavez crossed his arms. “Do you want me to cut those pants off?”

“Absolutely not.” Coulson wasn’t letting anyone near this suit. He stood a little taller. “I’ll take the pills.”

“Too damn late. Do you want me to saw off your leg? Go.” Chavez turned away, moving through medical like a force of nature, everyone and everything under his control.

Coulson admired that about him. “Fine,” he grumbled, going with the nurse to shuck his suit and cringe as he put on a gown that didn’t cover near enough back region of a man. Sitwell was going to laugh himself sick, and Hill would mock him for weeks. Wait. Hawkeye had a harem. That couldn’t be good, but it was a bit of evidence in the alpha submissive column. Coulson tried to get comfortable on the gurney and extended his arm.

“Hawkeye?”

“He’s sleeping.” The nurse smiled as she prepped his arm. “He’s so cute,” she sighed.

Horror was the only proper response to that. Coulson hesitated to voice it because she had a needle in her hand. He thumped his head back, shut his eyes, and hated his life.

********

The sound of someone puttering about woke him up with a start, and he was halfway off the bed before he recognized Sidney – the shy one – and her eyes were large and afraid.

“You’re okay,” she said in a soft voice. “Right?”

Before Clint answered, he stopped pulling on the IV, got his body back under the covers so his nuts weren’t hanging out, and took several deep breaths. “Yeah. Leg still hurts.”

“You were shot.” Her eyes twinkled. “Thanks for covering up.”

He blushed, not remembering the last time he’d felt gentle towards a person. “This gown doesn’t cover much.”

“We hear that complaint a lot.” She straightened the end of his bed. “Breakfast is on the way. We weren’t sure what you liked, so Ronald said he’d get some of everything.”

“I get fed?” Clint blurted, and then nearly cursed at her look of horror. “I mean, great. I’m not picky.”

“No allergies?”

“Nope. I have a stomach like iron, or so my mom used to say.” Clint shifted, tucking his bow a little tighter under the covers. “Has Coulson said what they’re planning to do with me? You don’t feed a dead man walking.”

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by Ronald pushing a cart inside, absolutely laden with food. Clint decided he didn’t much care what the long term plan was, as long as he got to eat right now.

Ronald treated him like a prince, arranging the bed, the pillows, making sure there was water, juice, and coffee. Clint wanted to grab everything and hightail it for the vents to gobble in peace. Instead, as he licked his lips, there was a special tray on wheels that rolled across his lap, and Ronald piled food high.

“You’re steady? You can eat?”

Clint looked up at him. There just weren’t words, and he refused to look weak by thanking him ten times.

“We’ll leave you alone. Buzz when you’re done, or need anything.” Ronald pointed at the appropriate button on the bed remote. “Okay? Okay. Sidney, stop swooning. Out.”

They were suddenly gone, and it wasn’t that Clint was starved or anything like that. He ate. He bought food. All the time. His hand shook a little as he picked up the fork and dug into the eggs. He might’ve moaned softly at the taste. Making himself go slow was hard, but he didn’t want to puke. He stuck with high protein foods, avoiding carbs, and indulging himself with the fruit. Fruit was a luxury he rarely had beyond an apple. He was careful not to spill or make a mess, making sure his IV line didn’t knock over his coffee, which was heaven.

When his stomach wouldn’t hold anymore, he leaned back and shut his eyes. Maybe he could rest and then eat some more.

********

Staying overnight in medical had not been in Coulson’s plan, but once he had his pants off, it was harder to argue the point. He’d tried to watch TV all night, but a nurse had put a stop to that, and he woke up the next morning when someone brought a tray and coffee in his room.

Groggy, he drank the coffee first and then picked at the food, only looking up when Dr. Chavez strolled inside.

“Get out. Take your damn meds this time.” Chavez was such a sweet talker. “No tight pants. I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d remove your circus star when you go.”

“I’m shocked he’s still here.” Coulson would work on it. He poked at his leg, grumbling when it still hurt and then flexed his arm. That still hurt as well.

Chavez sighed. “You’re an idiot. His leg is healing nicely, by the way, and he’s done exactly what you predicted.”

“Lord of the submissives?”

“They can’t resist him. Just like Stark, but he’s more of an asshole than Clint is.”

“Clint?”

“Hawkeye, whatever. He told Ronald that his name is Clint.”

Coulson blinked several times. The fact that Hawkeye had volunteered that information was a big step in the right direction. “Huh.” He fiddled with the toast. “Anything else?”

“Everything is conjecture at this point because you have standing orders against me actually examining him.” Chavez glowered. “In my own damn med bay.”

Reassessing, Coulson nodded. “Do it. But make sure Ronald warns him and is present. I want a full report afterwards, detailing how he reacts to being pushed by an alpha.”

“I see you’re awake now. Get dressed, get your meds, go away.” Chavez strolled out the door, completely in command. Coulson would make sure he was close by, armed with his taser. Hawkeye, or Clint, might make another run for it. Coulson finished his coffee without dawdling.

********

“Clint?”

With a jerk, Clint pretended he’d been awake. “Can I keep all this food?”

“No.” Ronald laughed, getting Clint some fresh coffee and beginning to clean up. “The doc will be in to examine you in a little bit. Okay?”

Clint didn’t like the sound of that, and he considered making a grab for the pineapple. “I’m better, fine even.”

“He signs off on you, and you’re out of here.” Ronald smiled, stealing the food away.

“Yeah, okay.” Clint wasn’t sure about that either. Where could he go? Back to the rage room? It wasn’t like he worked for whatever alphabet organization this was, and he still wasn’t convinced they didn’t intend to shoot him. He clutched the end of his bow and wished for an arrow. Just one would help. Ronald piled the dishes back on the little cart and trundled away, and Clint stared at the door, mouth dry.

Telling himself that he was over-reacting never worked. He glanced about the room, feeling hemmed in, but the air vent in this room was tiny, which no doubt was why he was in here. Biting his lower lip, he worked at the IV tape until it was barely hanging on and one gentle tug would free him of the line.

The door opened, and Clint swallowed hard at the man who filled the doorway. The guy was huge, tall and broad.

“I’m Dr. Chavez,” he said, voice deep and stern. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to do a full examination before I release you into Agent Coulson’s tender care.” He stepped to Clint’s bedside, looming like some sort of ghoul and smelling like one of those alphas who don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

It took one yank to remove the IV, and Clint was off the bed and dashing for the door. Chavez twisted. “Wait!”

Clint lashed out with his bow, slammed the door open, and kicked aside a cart full of supplies. It clattered to the floor, nurses came running, and Clint took two seconds to make his choice, jumping up to slide over a desk and heading straight for the nearest exit sign.

********

When the clatter and screaming reached Coulson’s ears, he indulged in a healthy sigh before stepping into the hallway and taking Hawkeye down to the floor with a feint and a tackle. Hawkeye thrashed like a dying fish, and Coulson flipped over to lie on Hawkeye’s mostly naked back, making sure to keep the arm with the bow flat to the floor.

“Off! Off!”

Coulson leaned and spoke right in Hawkeye’s ear. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to get up, and you’re going to stand there and use your words to tell me what’s wrong. No running away. No smacking me with your bow. You will talk, preferably English, but I’m fluent in three other languages if we need to go that route.”

Hawkeye froze, body going pliant, and for one second they were molded together. Coulson breathed in the delightful smell, and the temptation to clamp his teeth into Hawkeye’s neck made him whine. He swallowed it down and found a word.

“Agreed?”

“Get off,” Hawkeye said, sounding tired. “I won’t run.”

“Or hit me. Or bite me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Coulson eased away, disgusted that he’d rather stay put, and took a healthy step back to both block the exit and give Hawkeye room to stand. Hawkeye gave them all the stink eye as he gracefully got to his feet.

“Fix your gown.” Coulson needed him covered.

With a twist and a yank, the gown settled, and Hawkeye bared his teeth at Coulson. “No one is touching me.”

Dr. Chavez came into view, rubbing his arm. “I need to examine your leg.”

“No. You’re…” Hawkeye made a gesture that took in all of the doctor. “No.”

“He’s married, Hawkeye. He has no interest in you beyond wanting to help you get well.” Coulson felt responsible for this mess. After all, he’d given in to the doctor’s request when he’d known better. “Will you let him treat you?”

Hawkeye’s gaze flitted from Coulson to Dr. Chavez. His hand flexed on his bow, over and over again. A stupid man would think that Hawkeye looked ridiculous in his blue-checked hospital gown, dirty bare feet, and unstrung bow clenched in his fist. Coulson was many things but never stupid. He took a small step and spread his hands. “Please.”

No one made a move, and Hawkeye’s shoulders slumped. “I want Ronald in the room.”

“Perfectly reasonable. I’ll even be right outside the door. Yell and I’ll come in to taze the shit out of him.” Coulson made sure not to smile. “Dr. Chavez, are you hurt?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Hawkeye.

“He gave me a knock, but I’m fine. My wife may want a word with him,” Chavez flashed his teeth. “She’s protective, you know.”

“I do.” Coulson motioned to Hawkeye. “Ready?”

“No, but, whatever. I guess you’re not going to shoot me? Like you said you would?” Hawkeye’s voice held a note of hope that made every submissive wince.

“It appears as if the director has other plans for us.” Coulson tried to sound patient, instead of bitchy.

“God help you both,” Chavez muttered.

Coulson wanted to laugh at that bit of accuracy. Ronald made a strange noise, like choked off laughter, and Hawkeye turned that way.

“Ronald?”

“I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.” Ronald nodded. “Maybe while that happens, Sidney can get you some real clothes. We’re all real tired of seeing your ass.”

Several people chuckled, but Coulson wasn’t one of them. He edged closer to Hawkeye and breathed through his mouth, needing the scent of him. Hawkeye raised his chin, and their eyes met straight on, but neither of them looked away. Time stretched, and no one even shuffled their feet. Coulson inched closer, almost raising his hand to touch. Hawkeye narrowed his eyes and turned a little to the right, showing the tendon of his neck, not in submission but a concession.

“Not yours,” Hawkeye whispered.

Licking his lips, Coulson didn’t answer. He shrugged, and Ronald stepped in between them. Hawkeye went back to his room, and Coulson trailed after him to make sure no one else got hit or tackled. Chavez gave Coulson a long look before going to examine Hawkeye. It could’ve meant anything.

“I warned you,” Coulson said, unable to help himself.

“You did.”

Coulson kept his promise, staying right outside the door in case Hawkeye panicked again. He did hear Hawkeye very clearly telling Chavez to stuff it once, but the door stayed closed, and no one was thrown out the window.

When Chavez opened the door, he looked frazzled. Coulson peeked inside to see Ronald shooing Hawkeye, bow still in hand, towards the shower, and Chavez shut the door with a firm snick.

“He made me want to whimper.”

It was hard not to grin. Coulson thought from the sour look that he received that he might’ve shown it. Chavez slumped. “Eyesight is off the charts. Literally. He read the tiny print at the bottom that I didn’t know was there. He has hearing loss at thirty and forty percent. For now. Get him regular checkups if you’re keeping him. The leg is healing fine, as evidenced by him leaping out of bed to dash away. His concussion was minor. Please. Take him away.”

“I can do that.” Coulson nodded, but he would wait until after Hawkeye’s shower. Hopefully, the soap would wash away the incredible smell of him, or at least tone it down.

Chavez poked him in the arm. “He’s dangerous, Phil. Be careful.”

“Ow, and thank you. I will.” Coulson had no desire for any more stitches, at least for a few days. He watched as every submissive in the medical bay found a good reason to be in Hawkeye’s room. It was almost creepy, like Hawkeye was some sort of Pied Piper. All the giggling was making Coulson’s head hurt, and he smiled in relief when the door opened to both a flood of submissives going about their other jobs and Hawkeye, properly dressed in SHIELD standard black issue.

The bow was clenched in Hawkeye’s fist, and he looked primitive, ready for war. Coulson wasn’t attracted to that at all, really.

“Well, you gonna stand there and massage your knot, or are we going somewhere private where you can threaten me?”

Hawkeye’s crudeness snapped Coulson out of it and right into irritation to go along with his headache. “Put the bow in your left hand. Walk on my left,” he growled.

Hawkeye shrugged and did it, and Coulson led the way to his office, not sure where else to go. They limped along together, both trying to hide it, and more than one junior agent found business in the opposite direction from them.

“Back to the rage room?” Hawkeye snarled.

“No. My office.” Coulson used his thumbprint to open the door, gesturing Hawkeye to go first. They had a lot to talk about, but Coulson wanted Tylenol first and then some coffee. Hawkeye didn’t waste any time perching on the back of the sofa, bow across his knees and his boots planted wide on the sofa cushions. His look was challenging, even aggressive. Coulson fired up his four cup coffee machine, glad it was ready to go, and dug around in his middle desk drawer for the Tylenol, finding his antibiotics that he’d forgotten to take and a container of Tums. He tossed them both out, knowing he’d need them. “Coffee?”

“I keep expecting you to pull a gun out of there.” Hawkeye’s voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp, hard.

“It’s in that drawer.” Coulson pointed at the bottom one. “I have a knife in this one somewhere.” He scooted some junk to the side. “Here it is.” He waved it in the air. “Best throwing knife ever made. Stark, of course.”

Hawkeye twitched. Coulson saw it. He put the knife near the Tylenol, coffee gurgling in the background.

“My bow is one of the best.” Hawkeye slipped his hand down the length of it. “Only a sixty pound pull, but you don’t need any more than that.”

“To kill a man,” Coulson finished. He didn’t look at Hawkeye’s face, not wanting to see if there was guilt there or not. Rolling his chair back, he opened a file cabinet and pulled out an arrow, and now there was definitely a gleam of interest. “One of the best arrows on the market, aerovane fletching that is remarkably quiet, custom diamond tip, sharpened by hand, and it’ll carve its way right through a man’s heart, or a deer, but we know better than that.”

Hawkeye swallowed hard. “You cut my string.”

“Wasn’t me.” Coulson put the arrow by the knife. “I tracked you by your arrows. Turns out there aren’t that many people who buy certain brands. Isn’t carrying just one a risk?”

“I never miss.” Hawkeye looked less aggressive now, maybe even a little worried. “One is plenty.”

“When you have one man to kill.” Coulson made sure not to nudge the arrow tip with his finger. He hated blood on his desk. The coffee finished, and he got them each a mug, taking his back to his desk and hoping Hawkeye didn’t throw his in Coulson’s face. Coulson took a sip, nodding at the flavor, and booted up his computer. No matter how this turned out, he had a ton of paperwork to do.

********

The coffee was good, but Clint didn’t put his bow down. If he had to, he could club Coulson with it and make it into the vents. This time, they’d never find him. Of course, he’d probably die of starvation, but it’d be better than some things alphas did to submissives.

Coulson tapped out something on the computer, drinking his coffee, and ignoring Clint without even trying. Clint remembered this act from the rage room, and this time he wasn’t going to break. He was fine being quiet. He was. Some Tylenol was bumped his way, and he took two, careful not to get within grabbing range. The phone rang, and they both jerked, and Clint wished he could hear the other side of the conversation.

“Yes, he’s with me.

“No, he’s not gnawing on my leg.”

“Yes, I’ll take my meds this time. If you see Chavez’s wife on this level, throw up a flare.” Coulson put the phone back down without slamming it. “Sitwell is a total jerk. Avoid him.”

“Will do.” Clint nearly smacked his forehead in disgust at how easily he’d given up being silent. Instead, he downed his coffee and hefted the mug. He could knock Coulson out without even trying. Coulson didn’t look worried. If anything, he looked bored. Clint set his bow down and got a refill, adding sugar this time from a little cup of sugar packets. “I decided not to shoot Stark.”

“Sitwell releasing the door handle, allowing it to fly open and slam against the wall, didn’t have anything to do with your sudden decision?” Coulson sounded bored, too. “I think he did it on purpose so I’d have to chase you,” he grumbled.

“No, I’d already made up my mind.” Clint added a creamer because it was there. He took his coffee back to the sofa, once again sitting with his back to the wall and his feet on the cushions. “I’m not lying.”

“Did I say you were?” Coulson’s fingers were tapping. “Stark was your first target that I had issue with. All the others were on our black list. Of course, we don’t usually kill people. We put them in prison for their crimes.”

Clint hated that he was embarrassed. “It wasn’t that many!”

“Sixty-three confirmed kills.” Coulson sounded like a damn robot. “Stark was your first miss.”

“That’s a fucking lie!” Clint nearly sloshed coffee on his hand from yelling. He wanted to throw it now. Coulson raised his eyebrows, and Clint fought to control himself. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Probably. I’m like that.” Coulson shrugged. “Okay, so it was only sixty. I exaggerated.”

“Fuck you.” Clint drank his coffee, enjoying the taste and forcing himself to calm down. It didn’t matter what the alpha thought. He knew the truth. “Wait. Am I going to jail for sixty kills?” The thought was mind-numbing.

“You did leave plenty of evidence at each of your kill zones. All the arrows had your DNA on them.” Coulson grinned. “Did you kiss them goodbye?”

“I hate you.” Clint could only hope this was all a pack of lies, and he would never carry his arrow in his mouth when climbing fire escapes again. “I’m not confessing, and I’m not telling you who hired me.”

Coulson turned from his computer, eyes sharp now. He picked up the knife and examined it. His hands were sure and steady, and Clint had no doubt that Coulson could throw it accurately.

“Who do you think we are?” Coulson kept his gaze on the knife.

“FBI or CIA, maybe NSA.” Clint couldn’t decide which agency was worse. “Army Intelligence?”

“None of them have an aircraft carrier.” Coulson lined the knife up with the arrow again. “Of course, it’s new. When the FBI finds out, they’ll want one too.”

This conversation was all over the place, and Clint opened his mouth, trying to breathe in Coulson’s scent, figure this out before he said the wrong thing.

“It bothers me that you didn’t have a cell phone with you,” Coulson said, gaze returning to his computer screen. “Did you ditch it?”

Clint shrugged and told the truth. “Seems dumb to carry something distracting.”

“A true sniper.” Coulson nodded as if he were pleased.

Now Clint had a question of his own. “If you have my DNA, how come you don’t know my name?”

“Who says I don’t?” Coulson drank some coffee. He looked so bored, tired, and unimpressed that Clint wanted to scream, or throw something, or run out the door, anything to get a response. Instead, he gulped down the rest of his coffee and tossed the mug at Coulson’s head. It was a gentle toss, damn it. Coulson caught it without shifting his eyes. “Thanks.”

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Clint surged up and yanked open the door, hoping there were at least five security guys to attack. No one. Not a soul was in the hallway. “You take all the fun out of life.”

“I’ve heard that before. Someone has to protect alphas from you.” Coulson sighed. “Of course, when Chavez’s wife finds you, I’m going to stand back and laugh.”

“She’s tough, huh?” Clint liked that in a submissive woman, and he’d never show the curl of anxiety in his guts at facing an alpha woman. “Hey, since we’re not doing anything special, like torturing me, can I go? I can swim, ya know.”

“I’ll put it in your file.” Coulson shook his head. “I have torturing on the schedule for this evening. This morning was my chance to soften you up with mediocre coffee and scintillating conversation,” he said in a monotone.

“What’s up this afternoon?” Clint sorta hated that Coulson made him want to smile. “Drugs? Rape?”

Coulson flinched, and Clint felt like a shit for saying it. Clint hurried on, “That was a joke.”

“No, it really wasn’t. We’ll watch some comedy shows together. I’ll show you funny things. That was not funny.” Now Coulson sounded angry, which was a nice change from bored.

Unsure what to say and wishing he’d stuck with his no-talking rule, Clint picked up his bow and ran his hand over a few of the scratches. “Do you have any sand paper?”

“No.” Coulson watched him. “Why a bow, and not a rifle? It was like leaving a calling card at each kill. Every law enforcement agency in America is keeping an eye on archery clubs now.”

Clint looked everywhere but at him. Answering that question would only stir up more questions that he didn’t want to think about, so he shrugged.

“Going all submissive on me just makes me suspicious.”

His head came up fast, and he flashed his teeth at the alpha.

“There’s my Hawkeye.” Coulson grinned, looking fierce. “Why a bow?” he spat the words at him.

Anger curled in Clint’s belly, and he fought the urge to whine. “Because I’ve never fired a damn rifle before!” His shame kept the words coming. “It’s completely different than a bow, and what if I’m shit at it? I can’t kill the bad guys with a sword! That’s just stupid!”

“You’re trained in swords as well.” Coulson’s fingers danced across the keys. “Bad guys, huh?”

“I meant…” Clint scrubbed his hand through his hair. He was giving too much away, and he didn’t know how to stop. “Never mind.”

“And that’s why you didn’t take out Stark. You realized he was an idiot, not a bad guy.” Coulson nodded, clearly not expecting an answer. “Your last two confirmed kills were drug dealers, murderers, and one was suspected of raping a child. Who hired you? The kid’s father?”

Clint eyed the door, considering it.

“Probably the mother. I see she’s an alpha.” Coulson kept tapping those damn keys. “No large money transactions from any of their accounts. Hawkeye, did you give them a freebie?”

Running was a great idea, and he got up with his bow only to find the doorway was blocked by a large woman with hands the size of canned hams. “This is Hawkeye?”

Clint felt glued to the floor, pulse pounding in his ears.

“Have at him,” Coulson said.

********

Leaning back in his chair, Coulson laced his hands behind his head to watch the show. The interrogation was going rather well. Her timing could be beneficial and stopping her never crossed Coulson’s mind.

Hawkeye’s eyes were huge, and he seemed to shrink a few inches. “Ma’am?”

Coulson nearly jumped to his feet from shock.

“You struck my husband? With your bow?” She growled, and the alpha waves were pouring off her. She was a trifle upset. “While he was trying to help you?”

“I-I-I was scared,” Hawkeye whispered, practically curling in on himself. His eyes stayed on her hands, and there wasn’t a single ounce of rebellion in him. “He’s tall and alpha.”

She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. Coulson had seen it before. Hawkeye was about to be on the end of an impressive rant about doctors, healing, compassion, and how to appreciate all three. She sometimes made junior agents cry. Hawkeye glanced at Coulson with absolute horror in his eyes, and suddenly it wasn’t amusing.

“D-d-don’t beat me.” Hawkeye somehow managed to pitch his voice lower than a whisper, showing his neck with his eyes screwed up shut.

Coulson was up and between them in a flash. Hawkeye didn’t move an inch even though he was pressed into Coulson’s back. “Amelia, I’m very sure Hawkeye will be more appreciative of quality medical care in the future. It’s his first time here. He’s confused and injured.”

“There’s bruising.”

“I know Hawkeye will apologize again.” Coulson heard Hawkeye mumble an apology, and he was pretty sure Hawkeye was still cowering. “After all, he’ll need a checkup very soon.”

“My husband’s a gentle man. I expect people to respect that.”

“I’ll put out another email. You have my word.” Coulson felt a hand on his belt, and without thinking, he reached back to clasp it. “Thanks for stopping by.”

She nodded, and he shut the door, wanting to slump against it. “Hawkeye, it’s okay.”

“My name is Clint Barton.”

“I like that better.” Coulson didn’t turn. He held Clint’s hand and threw out a lot of assumptions he’d made about the man. “She scares me too. She scares everyone on base, except Director Fury.”

“You weren’t scared. You smelled protective.” Barton slid his hand away and went to the sofa to sit in a heap in the corner. “She wanted to kill me, and I don’t blame her. I’d be pissed if someone hit my mate, too. I’ve never seen alphas bond, but, wow, she loves him.”

“She does.” Coulson stood amazed at the flood of words. “Alphas don’t usually get married, but here at Shield, we hire different sorts of people.”

“Shield? Do the letters stand for something? No, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Barton rubbed his face with his hands. “Can I go back to the rage room? I’m done talking.”

Coulson wanted to curse his stupidity. There was no way to have known that Barton would be even more scared of female alphas than males, but he shouldn’t have taken that chance. Now Barton was shut down and interrogating him further would be counterproductive. Finding Barton suitable quarters was also tricky, and pulling him out of the vents wasn’t something Coulson wanted to do again.

“Sure. Give me a minute.” Coulson went to his desk and pretended to type a few notes while thinking frantically. He wanted to recruit Barton, not turn him into a stone cold enemy, but there just weren’t that many open rooms on the carrier, and the brig would send the wrong message. He picked up the phone, wishing he didn’t have to do this.

“Fury.”

“Do you ever check your email?” Coulson knew the answer, but it never hurt to nag at him.

“Hell, no. You wondering what to with your pet archer tonight?”

“Yes.” Coulson wasn’t going to argue the finer points where Barton could hear.

“Did he give up who wants to kill Stark, besides half of humanity?”

“No.” Coulson would get it out of him eventually, but he had to get this decision right. “So…”

“I suggest level nine.”

Coulson screwed up his brow, reviewing his mental map. “Level nine is storage.”

“Really?” Fury hung up on him.

Cursing never did any good when it came to Nick Fury. Coulson got to his feet, ignored Barton’s worried look, and made sure his tazer was in his coat pocket. Barton had a death grip on his bow.

“Let’s go find you a bunk.” Coulson hoped he wasn’t over-stating the matter, and he could see that he hadn’t reassured Barton at all. “Do I need a security team? Or are you willing to walk with me?”

“No alphas,” Barton growled, looking wild for a second.

It was easy to see that Barton had been pushed too far today. Coulson stepped back to his desk and dialed medical. “Have Ronald meet me in elevator six.” He didn’t wait for much of an answer, hanging up and getting the door. “Bow in the hand opposite of me, please.”

“You realize that makes it easier to hit you, right?”

“I was doing you the courtesy of not accidentally bumping your weapon.” Coulson made sure to lace his voice with a hint of scorn. “It’s obvious that it’s quality.”

“Damn right it is.” Barton flushed, and Coulson smelled a smidge of embarrassment. It wasn’t that Barton was young, even though he had a ways to go before thirty, but Coulson was beginning to think the submissive had been raised by a series of alphas who had no respect. Alphas who were a bunch of jerks. Coulson kept them moving, and he controlled a small growl when Barton grinned at the sight of Ronald, waiting at elevator six as requested.

“Well, neither of you are bleeding. Dr. Chavez will be so relieved,” Ronald said with a smile.

Coulson pushed the button and tried not to be jealous. That was ridiculous. Barton clapped Ronald on the shoulder. “Apologize for me, will ya? I shouldn’t have hit him. I panicked.”

“His wife tore you a new one.” Ronald nodded. “There aren’t many alpha/alpha couples on board, so she’s protective.”

Squashing the urge to get between them, Coulson herded them on the elevator and pushed the button for the level nine, and god only knew what he’d find there.

*********

Not knowing where he was going made Clint twitchy, but he took a soft, deep breath in the elevator and Coulson smelled curious, and something else a little sour, not of lies or deception. Those smells, Clint knew very well. Ronald smelled of good things, like friendship, and Clint didn’t understand it, but he wasn’t going to push it away. Not when the entire ship reeked of alpha, and not those weak, lily-livered alphas either.

Coulson leaned Clint’s way, and Clint glared into blue eyes that didn’t blink or give an inch. Clint had no idea who the boss of SHIELD was, but he knew that Coulson was high on the totem pole. The question hanging in the air was why Coulson had been assigned to hunt Clint down. Maybe Coulson was just that good, because Clint was no slouch when it came to evading alphas. It was one of Clint’s best things.

“You guys are making me nervous,” Ronald bumped Clint, breaking them apart. Coulson flushed, and Clint smirked, feeling like he’d won that round. Whatever game Coulson was playing, Clint intended to win. He wasn’t giving up anything, or anyone, and he wasn’t confessing.

The doors opened, and he followed Coulson a little cautiously. Ronald looked around the long hallway. “This wasn’t here before, was it?”

“You’re asking me?” Clint started looking for exits, dismayed at the small size of the vents he was seeing.

Coulson kept moving and then stopped in front of a door – the only door at the end of the hallway. He swiped a card that he pulled from his inner coat pocket and opened it. “See if this suits you.”

Barton crossed his arms until Coulson got out of the way and then looked inside. It was… a hotel room? With connecting bathroom? Ronald nudged past him and started poking about. “Hey, this is nicer than my quarters! Your bathroom has a real tub!”

“This can’t be right,” Coulson muttered. He stayed in the doorway.

Clint opened another door to find a perfectly good closet. If he had any clothes, it’d be useful. He went to the bed, wondered if it was real or a figment of his imagination, and then strode back to the door. “Are you staying? Does the door lock from the inside? Is this a trap?”

“No. Yes. And you are still under arrest. I assume, though anything is possible.” Coulson rubbed his forehead. “Every time I think this job can’t get any weirder. Come on, Ronald. Let’s leave Hawkeye to his nap.”

Ronald grinned, put his hand up for a high five, and Clint rolled his eyes but gave it to him. When the door clicked behind them, Clint could only stare at it for the longest time. Shaking himself, he went to it, opened it up and strolled down to the closed elevator door. There was no call button, and he ran his hands over it, knowing that he couldn’t power it open. This was a trap, or a cell, whatever, but it was the nicest he’d ever known. Shrugging, he went back to his room and locked the door from the inside with both dead bolts. It was crazy, but he was safe. There was even television and a small refrigerator stocked with drinks.

No windows, but there was art on the walls. Clint sat on the edge of the bed and began untying his boots. They were new, and he was still surprised they had provided them. He could kick someone very hard in the balls with these boots. He tucked them halfway under the bed and took another sharp look around the room. He hadn’t spotted the cameras yet, but he would. There was plenty of room on the bed for his bow, and he dug out a pillow for his head.

It wasn’t that he was tired, or sleepy. This was nothing but an excuse to get away from Coulson and all his questions. And the smell of him.

A knock on the door brought Clint awake and to his feet, and for several agonizing seconds, he had no idea where he was, looking desperately for a clue.

“Barton? I brought dinner. You hungry?”

The sound of Coulson’s voice brought it all crashing into him, and his leg crumpled, sending him to the carpet.

“I have a pain pill, too. If you need it.” There was a pause and Clint took a ragged breath. “I took mine earlier so I can stand here quite a while.”

“I hate you,” Clint mumbled, getting to his feet and limping to the door. He threw open the locks, tempted to grab the food and slam the door, but Coulson stood a good five feet back, carrying a tray stacked high.

“Can I come in?”

“As if I have a choice,” Clint grumbled, scrubbing at his gritty eyes. He left the door wide open and went to the bathroom, needing to piss and splash some water on his face. Maybe he’d double-check if the vent was big enough to hide inside.

“I have fruit,” Coulson said, projecting his voice into the bathroom.

Groaning, Clint cleaned up and bumbled his way to slump down in a chair at a small table in the corner. Coulson was already there, eyebrows up. “Not a morning person?”

“It’s the morning?” Clint’s voice cracked. He couldn’t believe he’d slept an entire day.

“No.” Coulson started unwrapping little bowls and sandwiches. “It’s about six p.m.”

Clint grabbed a fork and started on the cantaloupe without asking. He chewed while his anger simmered. When the bowl was empty, he wanted to launch it at Coulson’s smug face.

“Are you angry at me in specific or the entire situation in general?” Coulson took a bite of his sandwich.

It took Clint a second to decide. “Both,” he said. “Can’t you just stop being nice, tell me which super-max prison I’m reporting to, or put me out of your misery?”

Coulson took another bite and chewed. He suddenly smiled. “You think I’m nice?”

There was distinct wash of pleased alpha scent that drifted over to Clint’s nose. Clint glared, sharp and hard, snatching a sandwich and taking a bite.

“Professional curiosity: where did you have that last knife hidden?” Coulson leaned forward a little, eyes on Clint’s face. “Boot? Side pocket?”

“Belt.” Clint wanted to breathe in the scent of him, so he stuffed his face with his sandwich. It hit him that he should thank Coulson for the food, but thanking alphas was never a good idea. “Now answer my question: why haven’t you put a bullet in my head?”

There was a tiny wince at the corner of Coulson’s eyes. “I don’t want to,” he growled. “Even if it means I have to let you go.”

Shock raced through Clint’s veins, and he nearly choked on his bite. He surged to his feet and paced back and forth, not believing a word of it but smelling the truth on him.

“Then let me go! Now!” Clint yelled, needing to run. He’d get his stash and go to Europe. Start over, and this time, he’d never to listen to Trickshot.

“I wish it were that easy. I don’t always get what I want.” Coulson sighed. “My boss knows if we cut you loose we’ll face you again, and next time, there might be body bags required.”

Clint’s stomach insisted he go sit back down to finish the sandwich. He turned it all over in his mind again, wishing none of that had been true and searching for a loophole. If he told the truth, it might help or hurt. Coulson finished his sandwich and dug in his pocket.

“Pain pill,” he said to Clint’s suspicious face. He put it near Clint’s sandwich. “Not a sedative.”

“I’ll take it when the door’s locked again.” Clint popped open a soda and tried not to squirm under Coulson’s calm gaze. “With you on the outside.”

“Fair deal.” Coulson shrugged. “My turn for a question. Who hired you to assassinate Tony Stark? We’ve narrowed it down to about half the people on the planet.” The sarcasm was a surprise. “Let me be clear on this. My boss wants to know, and he won’t stop until he gets answers.”

“So this.” Clint pointed around the room. “Is him playing softball. And if I don’t cooperate, he’ll…?”

“We have a holding facility, known as the Vault. We put the people there that we know will escape a traditional prison. I like to think that my boss is a patient man.” Coulson tugged a bowl of grapes close and popped one in his mouth. “I guess you have to decide what you are: one of the bad guys, or one of the good guys? I’ve known you for about three days, and I have an opinion. You’ve been living in that skin for a few years. What’s your take on it?”

Clint needed to think, and for once in his life, he needed to make a good decision. “Get out.”

Coulson picked up a napkin, wiped his mouth, and eased to his feet. “Anything you want before I leave?”

“Cell phone, a million dollars, and a plane ticket to Tahiti.” Clint got the door for him. “Or a good bowstring and ten arrows.”

“Just ten?” Coulson strolled out the door, hands in his pockets. He didn’t seem to be in a rush, standing so Clint couldn’t shut it. “I’ll be by in the morning. We both have checkups. Breakfast before or after?”

“Is there a key card for the elevator?” Clint asked. “Or is it thumb print activated like your office door?”

No expression on his face at all, Coulson shut the door, and Clint heard the key card swipe. Clint tried the door knob. Nothing. He was locked in. Hating Coulson more than a little, Clint threw the two dead locks on his side and went back to the food.

********

“Well, Cheese?”

“I have no idea which way he’s going to jump. He’s stubborn, willful, intelligent, and deeply afraid of alphas, of which eighty percent of this organization is made of.” Coulson slid into the chair opposite Fury’s desk. “He may never tell us anything.”

Fury tapped his fingers on his desk. “He’s not afraid of you, and last I checked, you’re an alpha.” He shrugged. “I tried to warn Stark. I can’t even get through to him, or his damn secretary. No one believes me.”

Coulson frowned, unable to believe a man could be so careless with his future. “How about his security?” He could tell by the look on Fury’s face what the answer was. “I should’ve let Clint shoot him.”

“Probably.” Fury sighed. “When _Clint_ breaks out of his room, don’t go looking for him.”

Banging his head on the desk would send the wrong message. Coulson slumped back and rubbed his face. “Sir.”

“He smells like your grandma’s chocolate chip cookies. I have no idea how you’ve resisted him this long.” Fury flashed a grin. “Of course, you’re gonna have to earn him.”

“I hate you.” Coulson said those words far too often. “And more like butterscotch oatmeal.” He sat up straight and took a deep breath. It was time to get serious. “I can get to Stark. Maybe he can get to Hawkeye.”

“Good luck. We’re going to sixty thousand feet.” Fury surged to his feet. “Oh, and the office pool is leaning Hawkeye’s way.”

Coulson beat his boss out of the office and started for the flight deck. Halfway there, the general call sounded.

_“All personnel. All personnel. Secure your quarters. We are up in ten. Repeat. Ten minutes. Clear the flight deck.”_

Moving fast now, Coulson managed to get a pilot and a quinjet in the air at eight minutes. Stark needed a wake-up call, and Hawkeye was just the man to give it to him.

********

_“All personnel. All personnel. Secure your quarters. We are up in ten. Repeat. Ten minutes. Clear the flight deck.”_

Clint stopped searching for the damn camera to stare at the door in panic. He needed information. Right now. He was on an aircraft carrier. There was no up button. Frustrated, he opened the dead bolts and gave the door a kick. It didn’t budge, so he took a run at it, fell to the floor, and cursed a blue streak. His leg throbbed, and he felt like an animal in a trap.

There had to be a way out, but he couldn’t think of it. The floor started to rumble, engines roaring, and he got the hint when a plate hit the floor. He needed to secure anything breakable, and he did that before trying to bash the door open with a chair. The chair broke, but the door stayed firm.

“Let me out!” he yelled, knowing that someone was listening. There was no answer, of course, because even a nice cell was still a cell. He went to the bathroom and studied the ceiling, settling in on where the shower head connected. With a snarl, he balanced on the side of the tub and pulled with all his might. It tore down, pipes everywhere, and he stared, seeing nothing but black. He got a chair, put it in the tub and reached through the hole, feeling air but nothing solid.

He could feel the rumble in his chest now, and he ripped at the hole until he could jump up and wiggle through it. Damn dark with only the light from his bathroom, but after a moment he could see. He was on a deck used for storage, crates and boxes everywhere. They’d built his cell inside a hanger.

Back down through the hole, he retrieved his bow and stuffed a bottle of water in one of his pockets.

“Tell Coulson I’m one of the bad guys,” he said to the ceiling. He expected pursuit. He expected someone pounding down the door to stop him. Silence for a long moment, and then he ran, and he wasn’t stopping until he was some place no one could find him.

********

Long before the quinjet touched down on Stark’s helipad, a text came through on Coulson’s phone.

_Bird in the wind._

He pressed his phone into his forehead and wished he’d put some Tylenol in his pocket before he left. By his calculations, Clint had managed to escape at the same time that Coulson was flying away. Coulson could only hope that Clint had the sense to stay off the flight deck, or that’d be the end of one mouthy hawk.

Leaning his head back, he shut his eyes, and tried to rest. He was going to need all his strength to deal with Stark, and then god help him if he got Stark and Clint in the same room together. When the quinjet reached Nevada, the pilot opened the comm.

“Where to, Agent Coulson?”

Coulson dug out his phone, opened a pre-set program, and waited for real-time results. The pilot had time to circle once, and then Coulson had a location. “Malibu coastline.” That’s where Stark’s car was at least, and he was willing to bet that Stark had a killer garage. “Transmitting coordinates.”

The tracking device he’d slipped under Stark’s car had been just in case of emergency during the recent op, and this was an emergency because he wasn’t going to lose Clint now that he’d found him.

He might’ve dozed a little, but the pilot’s voice brought him out of it. “There’s a heli-pad. Should I land?”

“Definitely.” Coulson got to his feet, straightened his suit, and made sure his tazer had a full charge. “Be ready to haul ass when I get back.”

“Yes, sir.”

The house was abnormally quiet, even dark, and Coulson picked the outer door lock without even trying. The silence was complete, and he took two steps to let the door snick shut behind him.

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. The police are being notified. Please surrender yourself. Intruder alert. Do not resist.”

Coulson blinked at the calm, British voice commanding him to go peacefully. “Where’s Stark?”

“You are not authorized in this area. You will be arrested.”

“Jarvis! What the hell! Shut off the alarms!”

Coulson made no move towards Stark, who strolled into the half-lit room as if he hadn’t a care in the world. It was a miracle the guy hadn’t been terminated a dozen times.

“There is an intruder, sir. Please re-locate to the panic room.”

“But I’m not panicking. He’s in a suit. He has a cool jet of some sort. Let’s talk to him, and then you can gas him.”

“I cannot endorse this plan of action, sir.”

“Of course you can’t.” Stark scrubbed a hand through his hair. He was dressed in jeans and a ratty T-shirt, boots and attitude to complete the ensemble. “So… who are you?”

“Agent Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.” He paused like he always did. “We’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

Stark turned half away. “Jarvis, cancel the police. No, don’t argue. When I clear the room, gas it.”

Coulson nearly took a step and then decided that would be a mistake. “I apprehended a submissive in Las Vegas, trying to kill you with a bow and arrow. I’m sure you don’t care, but the decision whether to send him to prison or try to rehabilitate him is in your hands.”

Shrugging, Stark turned back. “Jarvis?”

“There were a number of calls from a Director Fury of Shield. They were considered a prank by the operators.”

“So Shield kept a guy from turning me into a porcupine, huh? Compound or recurve?”

“Recurve. Sixty pound draw.” Uncomfortable with the disembodied voice, Coulson wished Jarvis would show himself. “Caught him on the rooftop, near the casino.”

“There’s no way he could’ve made that shot. You’re wasting my time.” Stark shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored. “Send him to jail. My recommendation.”

This was the moment where Coulson won or lost him. “Mr. Stark, I’m offering you a chance to ride in my quinjet, visit the helicarrier, currently residing at sixty thousand feet, and interview a young man who’s an expert with a bow. Have you drowned your curiosity in scotch?”

Stark had a good poker face, but his shoulders straightened, giving his anger away. “I just don’t give a shit.”

“Yes, you do.” Coulson refused to believe otherwise. “He’s an alpha submissive, like yourself, and he needs something. I’m not sure what.”

“Finally, I meet an alpha that’s secure enough to admit he’s an idiot, and I don’t find him attractive, at all. The world is a cruel place.” Stark nodded. “Jarvis, inform Miss Potts that I’ll be out, and not to worry, I’ll be back in time to catch my plane to Afghanistan.”

“And your guest, currently asleep in your bedroom?”

“Miss Potts can handle her.” Stark smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Try to touch me, Agent, and I’ll rip off your balls.”

Coulson opened the door and went through it to hold it open. “I believe you, and I have enough stitches for one week. Trust me when I say, you are perfectly safe.”

Stepping out fast, Stark beat him to quinjet. “I didn’t design this, or it’d be better. Give me a tablet, the schematics, and shut up.”

“It’s classified.” Coulson found a seat as they shot into the sky. He dug a tablet out from a bin under his seat and handed it over. “Welcome to Shield, Mr. Stark.”

*********

No one was hunting him. Clint was sure of it. He’d spent the last two hours finding his way to the upper levels, listening to the chatter and waiting for sirens. Nothing. They weren’t even talking about him. It was if no one cared that he was on the loose, and that couldn’t be true. The ventilation system was more complicated than it had seemed at first. Some levels didn’t connect to others, forcing him down to the floor.

That led to him sneaking around corners, desperately trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Hey, Hawkeye.”

Clint spun on his heel, ready to attack, but the guy didn’t even slow down, walking right by him. His stupid ears had let him down again.

“My money is on you, just for the record.” The guy turned a corner and was gone.

Leaning against the wall, Clint sucked in deep breaths, trying for calm but only coming up with confused. He waited for a security detail to rush him, but no one appeared, and again, there was no alarm. “Okay, this is damn weird. Don’t they know I’m a dangerous assassin?” He strode down the hallway, no longer sneaking, and took the elevator down to medical.

Some guy in a uniform walked by him, gave him a nod, and kept moving. Clint frowned and stepped right inside the main door, ready to run.

Ronald came around the corner. “Clint! Your checkup isn’t until tomorrow!”

“I broke out of my room,” Clint said, feeling like an idiot. “I thought Coulson would be hot on my trail by now.”

“Oh, well, Agent Coulson is on assignment, and Director Fury sent out a video chat about you. Want to see it?” Ronald grinned. “It’s hilarious.”

Clint felt like maybe he was dreaming. “No one cares I’m running loose?”

“Well, don’t go on the flight deck, but other than that, I think we’re good.” Ronald grabbed Clint by the arm and started dragging him towards the back. “Don’t hit me with the bow, ok?”

“Ok.” Clint went inside a small office with him, still confused. “The flight deck?”

“We’re at sixty thousand feet. You’d pretty much die instantly.” Ronald waved him to a chair behind an old desk and opened a laptop to perch in front of him. “I know it’s weird, but it’s our life.”

Ronald cued up a video, and Clint’s eyebrows could not go any higher. He’d expected a pudgy old white guy to be the director. “Damn.”

“Oh, he’s the biggest badass on board.” Ronald raised the volume. “Listen.”

Director Fury was sitting behind a desk, one eye glaring at them. “Okay, Clint Barton a.k.a. Hawkeye,” a picture of Clint popped up in the corner of the screen, “is no longer confined to his quarters. I wish he’d used the damn door instead of tearing out the shower, but I respect his pluck. Do not engage with this man unless you want your nuts chewed off like he did Coulson’s. Got it? Leave him. He’s fine. When Coulson gets back, he’ll deal with it, and if you value your damn life, stay out of the way. Turn this fucking thing off, Hill.”

Clint met Ronald’s eyes. “The guy’s crazy.”

“Crazy like a fox.” Ronald shut the laptop and slung his hip up on the desk. “Did you eat? Want to get dinner? How’s the leg?”

“Coulson and I ate together. It’s okay. Hurts a little.” Clint mumbled the last sentence. He saw Ronald’s expression. “Stop it.”

“He’s a catch, Clint. You could do much worse.” Ronald smirked. “Want to bunk at my place tonight?”

Rubbing his face with his hands, Clint took a moment to wonder where he’d gone wrong. “Don’t you people realize I’m dangerous? I can’t be trusted. I killed people.”

Now Ronald stopped smirking, turning serious. He nodded. “We know, but most of the people on this ship are dangerous. Working for Shield is a tough job, and trust is something that has to be earned. You’re not a mindless killer. Agent Coulson wants to recruit you, not shoot you. Oh, he might want to kiss you, too.”

“I thought he was going to kill me.” Clint got to his feet, not rushing. He felt old and tired, and he had a feeling that none of this was ever going to make sense. “Some food would be okay.”

“Cool.” Ronald went out first, rushing about, talking non-stop to everybody, and in the end, about five of them surrounded Clint and took him to the cafeteria. He wasn’t sure if it was the safety in the numbers thing, or if they just wanted to ogle him. Sidney put a possessive hand on Clint’s arm, and Ronald rolled his eyes, but Clint couldn’t tell her no.

The cafeteria, good-sized and beige in color, was mostly deserted since it was a good hour away from dinner, but there were enough alphas left to make Clint’s hackles rise.

“Clint, please don’t make work for us,” Ronald said.

Sidney patted Clint’s arm. Clint swallowed a growl, refusing to let go of his bow, but allowing them put food on his tray. He sat with his back to the wall, trying to fit in and sure he wasn’t succeeding. Every instinct was yapping at him to get up, run, and not stop until he was hidden.

“How do you survive in cities?” One of the nurses, Beatrice, asked him. “Young alphas run in packs.”

“Don’t I know it.” Clint wished he didn’t. “I had a protector, but I learned to hide. A lot.”

“You’re safe here.” Ronald sounded sure of that. “The top-line alphas enforce the rules.”

Clint doubted it, and it worried him that he didn’t know what the rules were. He took another glance around the room and surged to his feet, making sure he had room to protect his submissives. The alpha prowled right to their table. No one moved or said a word.

“Hawkeye, would you kneel for me?” The guy’s voice was gruff and low.

Shocked at the traditional words, Clint opened his mouth to get a good read on him. The alpha smelled like… rain. It wasn’t bad, just not what Clint wanted. He narrowed his eyes, sure of his answer and ready to enforce it. “No.”

The alpha ducked his head, lowering his eyes. “Thank you for considering it.” He went back to his table with slumped shoulders, and Clint watched as the alpha’s friends consoled him with thumps on the back. Ronald reached and pulled Clint down into his seat to land with a small thud.

“Good gravy, he’s handsome. You’re sure, Clint? I’d climb him like a tree,” Ronald said.

Sidney nodded. They all nodded. Clint snorted. “He’s not strong enough to make me kneel.”

After a quiet moment, the conversation picked up again, and Clint had time to take a deep breath, considered what had happened, and wonder if it was all a trick. When the pack of alphas left, laughing and pushing, he managed to relax his shoulders.

“Why didn’t he try to force me?” Clint asked soft and low, more to himself than anyone at the table.

Sidney snuggled closer to him. “No one with any sense of decency would do that.”

“I guess I’ve been hanging out with the wrong people.” Clint noticed that no one contradicted him. “Any word on when Coulson is getting back?”

Every submissive at the table looked at him. A couple of them laughed. Ronald sighed. “No.”

“I should probably go find a good place to hide while I have a chance.” Clint considered what he knew of the ventilation system so far. He ignored the pout from Sidney.

Ronald pointed his fork at him. “Don’t go near the flight deck. I mean it. You seem like the kind of guy who likes to see things for himself. Trust me on this one. We’re flying at high altitude.”

Clint shook his head, unable to picture the power it would take to make an aircraft carrier fly. “I don’t believe you.” He held up his hand. “But I won’t. I’m going to find the hanger bay and see if I can steal a jet.”

“Can you fly one?” Beatrice asked.

“How hard can it be?” Clint was willing to try anything once. Before Ronald could open his mouth, a beeping noise came from each person’s pocket. They were gone so fast that Clint blinked in shock. “Damn,” he said when he realized he had to clean the table.

********

Stark kept up a steady stream of complaints and comments about the schematics, but Coulson followed orders and said nothing. His leg and arm ached, but not enough to keep his mind from creating one disastrous scenario after another in regards to Hawkeye roaming the helicarrier. If it wasn’t on fire when Coulson arrived, he’d count it as a win.

Checking his phone only deepened his misgivings, as Fury had uploaded a video of Clint escaping his room with closed captioning so Coulson couldn’t miss the parting shot.

_Tell Coulson I’m one of the bad guys._

Clint hadn’t looked like one of the bad guys. He’d looked panicked, worried, and Coulson shouldn’t have left without explaining a few facts about the helicarrier to him. If Clint did get hurt, it’d be Coulson’s responsibility.

“Stop growling, will ya?” Stark demanded.

Raising his eyes from his phone, Coulson put on his blandest face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Enjoying yourself?”

“I was, until you started growling and smelling like you wanted to hurt someone.” Stark moved to the seat farthest from Coulson. “Are we there yet?”

“Soon.” Coulson fished his tazer out of his coat pocket and made sure it had a full charge. Within thirty minutes, they were at the helicarrier, and Stark bolted for the front windows, practically sitting in the lap of the pilot.

“Go sit down!”

“I’ll have you know I could build this thing and then fly it!”

“We’ll be dead if you don’t let him dock safely!” Coulson threatened him with the tazer, grabbed hold of a handle, and kept Stark from crashing them. The instant the ramp was down, Stark was gone, tablet clutched to his chest, and Coulson chased after him, trying to look composed, not one minute from a meltdown.

Clint could be anywhere.

Stark would’ve put a rabid chipmunk to shame. The guy scurried, ranted, typed furiously on the tablet, and intimidated everyone into doing exactly what he wanted. There wasn’t an alpha who could stand against him. Coulson realized fifteen minutes in that it’d be easier to give Stark a tour than argue about it. Around each corner and past each vent, Coulson watched and sucked air through his mouth, trying to find his Hawkeye.

At one point, Stark gave him the side-eye. “Stop huffing my scent.”

Coulson stared at him, not replying seemed the safest course of action. Stark snorted and took off again, only listening when Coulson suggested a tour of the bridge. From there, the promise of coffee got Stark to Coulson’s office.

“Shut up while I think.” Stark took over the sofa, eyes on the tablet. Coulson started a fresh pot, deciding on a plan. It was a bad plan, but it was a beginning. With a heavy sigh, he picked up the phone and hit his intercom button.

_“Clint Barton, please report to Agent Coulson’s office. Clint Barton.”_

It was stupid, but it was worth a try.

The phone rang. Coulson picked it up. “Yes, I know it’s a stupid idea.”

“Glad you noticed.” Fury hung up on him. Coulson put his phone down without slamming it, and counted to ten in several different languages in his head. When he had hold of his emotions, he looked up to find Stark staring intently at him. Stark turned his tablet so Coulson could see it.

**There’s someone in the vent.**

Coulson blinked and pointedly didn’t glance at the vent. It was low, on the other side of the sofa, away from the door, and he was sure he was visible from there. He nodded. “Okay. I guess Barton’s a no-show. You can meet him later. Let’s begin.”

“Finally,” Stark said, rolling his eyes. “Pepper will kill me if I’m not back in time to catch my plane.”

“Shouldn’t it wait on you?” Coulson organized his files and turned his computer screen so Stark could see it.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Stark put his tablet in his lap. “Go. You have five minutes.”

“You make me want to bite things.” Coulson smiled the one that irritated people. He hit a key, setting a slideshow in motion. “It all started six months ago.” He kept it brief, concise, and he made sure not to talk during the audio portion.

_“Is this Shield? Yeah, I have a tip. Hawkeye is going to Vegas. Word is there’s a hit on Stark, and Hawkeye got the job.”_

Coulson managed not to flinch as the vent was kicked in, and Hawkeye, bow in hand, somehow managed to storm through the opening, looking furious.

“That’s fake!”

Without commenting, Coulson held up his finger, silencing him.

 _“Please state your name.”_ The Shield operator pressed for more information.

 _“Just do me a favor and shoot him.”_ There was audible click, and Coulson waited for it.

“You faked that!”

“Tony Stark meet Hawkeye. Hawkeye, Tony Stark,” Coulson said, waving his hand between them.

“Why would he fake that? He’s a busy secret agent guy.” Stark eased to his feet and prowled to face off against Hawkeye.

It was time to intervene, maybe step between them. Coulson wished he had popcorn instead. Hawkeye narrowed his eyes, and they circled each other.

“You tried to kill me?”

“If I had, you’d be dead.”

“Did I steal your alpha? Piss in your Wheaties?”

There was an awkward moment of silence, and Hawkeye crossed his arms. “The hit was for ten million.”

“That’s it?” Stark sounded extremely insulted. “I’m worth billions!”

“Not dead.” Hawkeye shrugged. His eyes darted between Coulson and Stark. “That tape was fake!”

“You were sold out.” Stark made a dismissive gesture. “Get over it. It happens.” He rounded on Coulson. “Who put the hit on me?”

Coulson didn’t even twitch, looking interested in the answer would be a mistake. “Hawkeye might know. He’s not telling.”

Clint hunched his shoulders, but he hadn’t ceded the higher ground to Stark yet. “I’m not going to jail for something I didn’t do!”

“You were going to kill him. It’s called attempted murder,” Coulson said, keeping his tone mild.

Stark stepped to the coffee, poured himself a mug, and blew on it. “You aren’t prosecuting him. Get real. How do I know this isn’t some elaborate scheme to get me on your side so I’ll provide you with tech?”

“Wow. Someone has a huge ego.” Clint didn’t hold back. “Everyone knows you’re a drunk, a sexual predator, and about one binge from brain damage. No government agency wants anything to do with that.”

“And you’re an… assassin? Who misses?” Stark didn’t bat an eyelash at the litany of insults delivered. “Coulson should’ve shot you, cleared the way for someone more competent.”

“If Trickshot had wanted the job, he wouldn’t have steered me towards it! It was his idea!” Clint was loud now, angry. “The hit had a very narrow time frame. Vegas or nothing.”

“Interesting,” Coulson said, glad this was all being recorded. “Maybe Trickshot thought he couldn’t do it.”

“Trust me. He’s good enough to take out anyone.” Clint’s eyes blazed.

“After all, he taught you the business.”

“I never wanted it. I just wanted to not die.” Clint rubbed his mouth. “I shouldn’t have said any of this.”

Stark crossed to his tablet with his coffee and sat back down. “So why didn’t you shoot me?”

“You’re an idiot, not a dangerous arms dealer like Trickshot said. He said you didn’t care who died as long as you got paid. He said you sold to both sides and laughed about it.” Clint stared at his boots now. “I saw you in Vegas. You’re nothing but a puppet.”

“I design the very best damn weapon systems in the world. I’m sure as hell no one’s puppet!” Stark snarled. “Your idea of high tech is a stick with a string!”

Clint turned his back. “Whatever. I guess I should’ve taken the shot.”

Before Stark could open his mouth, Coulson was up, moving, and crowding a little into Clint’s space. “You made Trickshot’s arrows, didn’t you? The ones he used to assassinate people all over the world.”

“I’m a hella fletcher. One of the best.” Clint nodded. “Why did he set me up? Did he say?”

“No. It worries me that he knows about Shield, but we’ll pick him up.” Coulson was sure of it. “You killed two?”

“Yeah. I was doing freelance, trying to get out of Trickshot’s reach, escape somewhere warm with a little cash. The Stark job seemed too good to be true. I could’ve vanished, had a life somewhere.”

Coulson wanted to hug him, and that was very wrong. “Who hired you?”

“Never saw the guy. He gave me a burner phone by means of a locker at the bus station.”

“You’re sure it was a man?” Stark asked.

“Positive. I could smell him on the casing of the phone. A top-line alpha leaves a lot of scent from palms.” Clint thought about it. “He gave me your itinerary, which you didn’t follow even once, and after it was done, I’d be paid by wire.”

“You didn’t demand half in advance?” Coulson was a little shocked.

Clint shook his head. “I screwed up, huh?”

Stark was blessedly silent for once. Coulson put his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Face it. You’re a terrible assassin.”

“I fuck everything up.” Clint didn’t push him away. “Trickshot took me in after…” He shook his head. “My brother and all that crap.”

Coulson needed more information, a lot more, but it was a start.

“Well, this has been fun.” Stark got to his feet. “I need to get back, not sure why I was here in the first place. I’ll tell Happy to increase security, and I’ll have Pepper send Shield a thank-you-for-not-letting-me-get-killed card, and Hawkeye, grow a pair.”

In a flash, Clint and Stark were back in each other’s faces. Coulson held his breath, thinking he might punch Stark in the nose if he touched Clint.

Two low growls, and neither of them backed down. Stark leaned into it a little. “You don’t want to try me.”

Clint seemed to freeze, and then ever so slowly, he rounded his shoulders and then raised his chin to the side. “I’d get a disease if I did.” But he submitted.

Stark flashed a toothy grin. “I like your spunk. Grow up a little and next time we may have to fight about it, but don’t worry. I have no designs on Agent there. He’s not my type.”

“Thank god,” Coulson muttered. “I’m going to need that tablet back, Mr. Stark.”

“No, and don’t think I haven’t noticed my dear old dad’s fingerprints all over the schematics of this ridiculous behemoth flying machine. He was never subtle. For now, it’s our little secret, but don’t push me.”

“Stark, I think you’re an ass, but I’m going to give you some advice. Don’t make him taze you. He loves the damn thing.” Clint picked up what was left of Stark’s coffee and downed it.

Coulson needed to slide between them, so he did, holding out his hand. “Tablet.”

There was a very long pause where Coulson thought Stark might do something ridiculous, and then he blinked. “Fine, give me another minute.” He thumped back down on the sofa, fingers flying, and Coulson debated on whether to rip it out of Stark’s hands. “Agent Barton, after Stark finishes whatever illegal thing he’s doing, would you please escort him back to the hanger and see that he gets to his house in Malibu?”

Clint’s eyes were wide. “Agent?”

“You have made up your mind?” Coulson had to give him the chance to run, even if it was dumb. They needed Clint to want to be here. “That you’re one of the good guys?”

Stark tossed the tablet to the other end of the sofa. “Let’s go. If we hurry, I can get an hour or two in on my car before Pepper comes to pester me.”

It was so easy to take that last step to land right in Clint’s personal space. Burying his face in Clint’s neck was the wrong move to make, so Coulson just took a deep breath that was far too obvious. Clint didn’t lean away, mouth quirking in a half-smile. “I think I’ve made up my mind.”

“Good.” Coulson brushed the back of Clint’s hand with his knuckles. Clint sucked in a soft breath through his teeth, not looking away or down. Coulson raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to make me earn it, aren’t you?”

“You bet your ass.” Clint licked his lower lip. “I’m going to leave my bow on your desk, okay?”

Breathless, Coulson could only nod. If anyone touched it, he’d gut them.

“Before you start humping, take me home.” Stark opened the door and left. “Or I’ll just find my own ride.”

“Go,” Coulson said. “The man needs a nanny.”

Nodding, Clint bolted after him. Coulson started counting and made it to three. His phone rang. Just to be contrary, he let it ring four times. He picked up. “Yes, dear?”

“Fucker. You’re sure about this?”

Coulson let his silence speak for him, resting his fingers on Clint’s bow.

“Okay, then.”

*********

It felt like his life was spinning out of control, and Clint would never admit that he needed a minute to let it all settle.

“You like him? Really?”

Clint grabbed a handhold during launch, unable to sit casually on the quinjet like Stark was. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from Coulson, but the smell of him was, somehow, a good thing. Maybe something that Clint wanted near him, and for the first time in forever, he wasn’t afraid of that. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“He’ll never let you off the leash.” Stark shrugged, digging a phone out of his pocket and starting to play with it. “Jarvis, did you get it?”

“Yes, sir,” a man with an English accent said. “You are in route?”

“Be there in a couple.” Stark disconnected but didn’t put it away. He went quiet, eyes far away, and Clint left him alone, going to sit near the ramp when his leg started to ache. Neither of them spoke, and the miles dropped away, giving him plenty of time to settle down and think it through from all sides.

He should run. It was the safest solution.

The quinjet landed outside a gigantic home, and Stark hit the lever to lower the ramp. He took Clint by the arm, pulling him down into what was left of the night. “Let’s talk.”

Those two words never meant good things, but Clint went along because if he was going to run, he had to start somewhere. He did wrench his arm away and growl, just to prove a point. He was nobody’s bitch, not even an alpha like Stark.

Stark yanked open the door to his house and ushered Clint inside. “Jarvis, is everyone still sleeping?”

“Like the proverbial baby, sir.”

“Okay, Hawkeye, this is the thing. I can smell the run on you. Don’t. That pilot probably has authorization to take you out with extreme prejudice, and he might put bullet holes in my house. Also? That Trickshot guy? He’s not going to stop trying to kill you, and I’d be willing to bet he can get it done if he tries hard enough.”

Stunned, Clint’s mouth might’ve dropped open. “Fuck you.”

“Not today, sorta fucked out from earlier, but go on, ruin your life. I don’t give a shit.” Stark crossed to a bar and grabbed up a glass. He poured two fingers and downed it. “I really don’t.”

“And walking on Coulson’s leash is better?” Clint yelled, so angry at his wreck of a life. “I have no good choices left!”

“Make your choice a good one, whether it likes it or not.” Stark flashed his teeth. “And go away.”

Clint wanted to punch him, but Stark walked off, leaving the room with a glass in his hand, not looking back. The door behind Clint opened.

“Have a nice evening,” the Englishman said. “I trust you won’t attempt to murder Mr. Stark again.”

“I won’t, but somebody will. Improve your security.” Clint turned to the quinjet, supposing that he’d made his choice. Like Stark said, Clint would have to make it a good one. The pilot gave him a nod when he returned, the ramp lifted, and they roared away, back to the helicarrier. Clint tried to calm the thoughts in his head that pounded at him about being an idiot and running far away.

Stark was right.

Trickshot wouldn’t give up. Clint slumped into a seat and rubbed his face with his hands. He had done everything Trickshot had demanded of him. He’d made the stupid arrows when he’d known they’d be used to kill people. None of this shit would’ve happened if Barney hadn’t decided to be a damn drug dealer. Pressing his palms against his eyes, Clint wished he couldn’t see it all happen again. The gunshots, the blood, so many angry alphas, and it’d been Trickshot who’d saved him. And now Trickshot wanted him dead.

Taking a deep breath, Clint went to the front and got their attention. “Can I borrow a phone?”

The co-pilot stared at him in confusion for a second and then nodded, digging it out of a pocket and handing it over. Clint thanked him and went to the back of the plane. He tapped in the numbers from memory, needing just one answer.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Tell me why,” Clint demanded, refusing to whisper.

“You should’ve stayed home, making arrows like a good sub.” Trickshot sounded tired, old, and maybe drunk. “You wasted your phone call on me? I’m touched.”

Clint wanted to threaten him, scare him, but all he could manage was, “I was never your sub.”

“And I never liked fucking white trash.”

“Don’t find yourself in front of my arrow. I won’t hesitate to shoot.” Clint pressed the ‘end’ button and returned to the phone to its owner. “Thanks.”

“Shield monitors all calls.”

“Don’t care.” Clint hoped Trickshot was throwing his shit in a duffle bag and running out the door. “I should’ve gotten my arrows back,” he muttered, going to sit again. He intended to sulk all the way to helicarrier, hating his life and thinking again of all the foster homes he’d been through. This was like that all over again. Trickshot had given Clint the boot, and now he had to live with SHIELD. Coulson might take Clint in, but soon enough the shine would wear off, and he’d be on the street again, or dead with a bullet in his head.

Leaning back, he shut his eyes. It was tempting to give up, just make them shoot him, but… he scrubbed at his leg, making it hurt. The sun was coming up, and he was tired, thirsty and hungry.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him awake, and he started fighting before his eyes were open. His punches were blocked and a shake brought him to a stop. He swallowed hard and let out a low whine when he saw, smelled, who it was.

“Good. Let’s walk and talk.”

*********

Before he sat up, Coulson looked for the bow, relieved when it was right where it was supposed to be. With a low groan, he struggled to get moving, yawning and wishing he had the guts to put a bed in his office. Checking the time, he fell back to sit in confusion. He’d slept for hours, and his stomach complained the lack of food while he stared at the bow and considered what it meant. Hawkeye should’ve been back by now, and Coulson cringed at the idea of hunting him down again.

Fumbling, he made it to his desk, washing down meds with stone-cold coffee. He grimaced at the familiar taste and made a vow to see the inside of his own quarters today for a shower. The door of his office being thrown open made his hand go for his gun.

Fury didn’t look a bit concerned about the barrel of a Glock pointing at his chest. “You alive?”

“Barely.” Coulson put the gun away and rubbed his face with his hands. “I need a shower.” He wanted to ask about Clint, but he didn’t want to see Fury smirk about it.

“Before you ask.” Fury raised his hand, palm out. “Hawkeye is now officially working for Shield. He made a couple of unreasonable demands, but I didn’t see any reason not to humor him.”

Relief made Coulson a little light-headed. “We need to find Trickshot.”

“Did that.” Fury smirked now. “Retrieved a shit ton of arrows as well. I thought Hawkeye was going to cry.”

Coulson heard the sarcasm. “All that’s left is to pick up his stash.” He stared into Fury’s eye for a moment and sighed. “You’ve been a busy boy.”

“No rest for the wicked.” Fury smiled, all teeth and attitude. “Take the bow, go to your quarters. You’re on medical for a week. I’m tired of watching your skinny, white ass limp around my boat.”

A terrible thought skipped through Coulson’s sleep-addled brain. “He wants you. Not me.” It made sense, perfect sense. Clint was an alpha submissive. He’d want the strongest mate he could find, and that was Fury.

“You’re an idiot. Quarters, now. Don’t come out until your brain is working again.” Fury snorted in irritation, cursed under his breath about stupid mating rituals, and left in a flourish of black leather.

There was nothing to do but get Clint’s bow and go to his quarters. The wood was cool to the touch, and he was careful not to knock it against the door. He trudged the entire way, too tired and sore to pick up his feet. Fury was right. This was no time to be stupid. After Clint healed and settled in, then Coulson would see if he were strong enough to claim such a fierce mate.

Of course, he was, but overconfidence would be a mistake, and knowing if Clint was receptive was a huge part of it. Coulson wanted a willing mate, not one traumatized and afraid. He realized that he was staring blankly at his door, and he fumbled out his key card to swipe it. Stepping inside, he leaned back against it and took a deep breath to center himself.

The scents that assailed his nose brought him sharply awake. The sight that greeted his eyes forced a growl from his throat.

Clint, crouched and ready, said nothing, but his eyes glittered with the promise of violence. Consent was a given, since he was naked, and Coulson let his eyes roam before holding out Clint’s bow.

“Put this somewhere safe.” Coulson couldn’t control the command in his voice. Clint curled his lip but sidled forward to take it in hand. He disappeared into the back of the suite, and Coulson assumed the bow would end up in his bed, not his bathroom.

With a distinct grumble and huff, Clint roared back into the tiny living space, and Coulson didn’t hold out any hope that his lamp would survive what was to follow. He slipped out of his suit coat and draped it casually around the only chair. “You owe me two suits,” he growled.

“You owe me a fair fight,” Clint growled right back at him.

It was intoxicating, better than any booze. “If I win, I will claim you, mark you,” Coulson gave Clint one more chance to call this off before thinking became impossible.

Clint bared his throat in challenge, not submission. “If you win, you better.” He crouched a bit lower and looked as if he might attack.

“If you make your move before this suit is off, I swear I’ll shoot you.” Coulson narrowed his eyes to emphasize, continuing to strip and placing the clothes on the chair. Clint licked his lips but nodded. Coulson didn’t rush, placing each article down after folding it. He measured his breathing and never took his eyes off his potential mate. Looking away for even an instant would be a mistake.

A low grumble sounded in Clint’s throat, and Coulson grinned, enjoying irritating him. Coulson flashed his teeth. “You’re going to look so good with my mark on your neck and my come streaking your face.”

“You’re going to look great crying on the floor, wishing you were tough enough.”

The words were harsh, but the growl behind them was soft, almost a purr. Coulson was glad they weren’t in the gym or someplace public. He wanted this to be their private moment, and that made him caress his full length, already hard. Clint’s gaze was on him, and Coulson wanted so much more than that.

“One more chance to run off before this circus freak humiliates you.”

“You’re not a freak. You’re my mate.” Coulson eased to his right, feinting with his left. The sweet smell of mate made him tingle all over, but he waited because he had a feeling that Clint needed the control of attacking first. Clint wanted to be able to say this was his idea.

That was Coulson’s last coherent thought because Clint surged at him, opening with a gymnastic move that would’ve levelled a lesser man. Coulson had never been the lesser man.

********

The desire to win argued with his need for a mate. A strong one, one that could make him bend, make him want to bend. The smell of Coulson made Clint a little light-headed, and for every piece of clothing that came off, it got a little worse. It made him impatient, a little crazy, and he needed to fight now. With a few words, Coulson turned that into a bad idea. Clint would always believe him when he said he would shoot.

Snarling, Clint threw harsh words at him, knowing it would enflame him. Mating shouldn’t be easy, not the first time, at least.

For a brief moment, Coulson seemed to hesitate, perhaps lost in a haze of scent. Clint didn’t question it. He attacked, opening with one of his fancier moves, knowing that the real battle would be fought once skin met skin. That expensive lamp turned into an excellent missile, nearly bashing Coulson in the head before smashing into the corner.

“That’s coming out of your first paycheck!” Coulson bellowed at him.

“Like there’ll be anything left after you buy your goddamn suits!” Clint threw himself harder into the fight, using his environment to try to bring him down. Covered with sweat, breathing hard through his mouth, he came to the painful conclusion that Coulson was toying with him. Humoring him.

Insulting him. Clint dashed for the bedroom, needing his bow and needing to teach Coulson a painful lesson. He never made it. Coulson dragged him down right outside the door, and they slid together, back to front.

Clint dug his fingers into the carpet, preparing to fight his way to freedom, when he heard Coulson mutter under his breath, “Please stay down. I don’t want to hurt you. Please. Please.”

It shocked Clint into stopping, just stopping. He did want a strong mate, but he didn’t want one who wanted to hurt him, liked hurting him. Instead of elbowing him in the head, Clint curled his shoulders and found some room to spread his legs. He was ready. He made his choice.

Coulson would be Clint’s mate, whether Coulson liked it or not.

“Thank you, good god, yes,” Coulson whispered in Clint’s ear, right before clamping his teeth into the side of Clint’s neck.

Yowling, Clint arched and shoved back, locking them together at the neck and ass. Tremors raced around his body, pleasure chasing pain, and he couldn’t seem to find any air for his lungs. Coulson was well within his rights to hurt him bad at this point. Tear Clint’s virgin ass in half and rip his neck bloody, and Clint had told himself he was ready.

He wasn’t. He sobbed out a breath. “Wait.” He expected nothing, no consideration, and he hated that he’d shown this weakness. Already, he was a crappy mate.

The teeth loosened and lips brushed against his ear. “Your needs become mine. Your life becomes mine.”

The traditional words branded themselves into Clint’s brain, sweeping away fears and imagined horrors. He managed a deep breath. “Your choices become mine. Your life becomes mine.”

“I thought you were the guy I was never gonna catch,” Coulson gloated.

Clint choked out a laugh. “A decision you’ll regret over the years, not that it’ll do you any good.”

Coulson nibbled Clint’s ear, sliding his tongue down and around. His hips retreated, and he slowly pulled back. “Let’s take this to the bed. You’ll feel better with your bow close at hand, to bash me if I get too excited.”

Shocked, Clint winced a little as Coulson’s hard dick slid out of his ass. “Okay?”

“And lube. We need lube, not just sweat.” Coulson staggered up, helping Clint to his unsteady feet, and they leaned against each other, blood and sweat smeared in different spots on their bodies. Coulson grunted. “Your leg okay?”

“About the same as yours, I think.” Clint took a wobbly step towards the bed, glad for the body against him. “Did you come on my back?”

“Maybe.” Coulson smirked. “A little.” He pulled Clint down onto the bed on top of him. “I want your come on me.”

Straddling him, cocks lining up, with Coulson’s hands on his chest, Clint wanted that too, but he didn’t understand. “You’re not doing this right.”

“You’ve watched too much porn.” Coulson tugged him down and brushed their lips together. “Anyway, I’m the alpha. I do what I want.”

Clint couldn’t help but smile. “So, I could bite you?”

“I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.” Coulson smiled back at him. “Just, please, no stitches this time.”

“No promises.” Clint buried his face in Coulson’s neck and got a good grip with his teeth. This was his choice, and he’d make it a good one.

********

Waking up to his boss standing over him, medical team right behind, made Coulson wish he worked somewhere else. His body moved before he thought about it, covering Clint’s sleeping form, and he might’ve been snarling, he wasn’t sure.

“Cheese, stop it. Two days of this bullshit is long enough. This place looks like a murder scene, blood all over the damn walls.” Fury put his hands on his hips. “Medical, and then I expect some work done!”

“I so hate you.” Coulson bit the back of Clint’s neck while everyone was looking. “He’s mine.”

“We know. Everyone knows. Even Stark called to congratulate you. Now, put your knot away before I knock it off.”

Coulson responded to the command by baring his teeth. Clint picked that moment to flutter open his blue eyes. “I like your knot.”

“Good,” Coulson growled.

“I’m going to my bridge before I shoot it off.” Fury stormed away, leaving the medical team to swarm them. Coulson didn’t have the energy to argue about it, and Clint fell asleep while they were putting an IV in his arm. They took them out on gurneys, and Coulson might’ve been shocked at the level of destruction in his living room. A team of maintenance workers were lounging in the hallway, waiting their turn, and Coulson fell asleep before Dr. Chavez could start complaining.

********

Waking up in medical was a surprise, but Clint was tucked into Coulson’s shoulder so he wasn’t freaking out, yet. He yawned, knuckled his eyes open, and stretched without moving away. “Why are we here?” he mumbled.

“We beat the record for mating frenzies, and Director Fury sent them in after us.” Coulson sounded disgusted. He kissed Clint on the forehead. “He likes to meddle.”

“Okay, then.” Clint curled a little tighter into him. “Ronald will bring us food. I like him.”

Coulson growled very softly, and Clint found some skin to nibble. He’d found a mate, a strong one, and there were no take backs. No more being handed off, and no more wondering where he’d sleep at night. “You should send Stark a thank you card. I was gonna run. I was. He changed my mind.”

“No.” Coulson – Clint wasn’t sure how long it’ll take to think of him as ‘Phil’ – wrapped his hand around the back of Clint’s neck. “Mine.”

Their IVs tangled together with their hands, and Clint rolled to his stomach, spreading his legs to make sure his mate got the message. He drew in a sharp breath. Message received, loud and clear, and he didn’t move into it like he’d done every other time. He let it happen, slow and easy. His alpha groaned, not hurrying, and Clint rocked with it, no pain now, just pleasure that made him feel boneless.

When he felt Coulson’s knot swell, locking them together, he came all over the sheets, whimpering a little. Coulson made happy noises, melting down on him and rolling them to the side. Clint didn’t want to ever move, needing this moment of feeling good and safe.

“Thanks,” Coulson said, mouthing the back of Clint’s neck.

Clint reached back and found a way to get him closer. He wasn’t sure what Coulson was thanking him for, but he liked the word. He liked feeling wanted. “Sorry about the lamp.”

“I knew you’d throw it.” Coulson’s teeth grazed skin, and Clint shivered. They must’ve dozed because they both jerked when the door opened.

“Can you two not? For a few hours?” Ronald grumbled at them as Coulson tightened his grip across Clint’s chest.

A growl started in Coulson’s throat, and Clint reached back to tug him by the hair. “Quiet. He’s fine. When’s lunch, Ronald?”

Ronald swallowed hard, turned his neck to Coulson. “I could get you two breakfast? If you promise not to smear it everywhere?”

Laughing, Clint rolled inside Coulson’s arms. “Hey, you could eat, right?”

Coulson’s eyes glittered, but he nodded. “I’ll feed you.”

They burrowed together until food arrived, and then Coulson arranged the items meticulously so he could feed them both. Clint decided he didn’t mind being pampered for one day. He did manage to feed Coulson once or twice, and they fell asleep with sticky fingers and full stomachs.

*********

“You done?”

Coulson glared at his boss, standing over by the door. Clint was still tucked under Coulson’s chin, and part of him wanted to stay that way forever.

“Can you think straight, or you still a rutting fool?”

“Do you have a gun you can lend me?”

“Question answered. Get your asses to your quarters. You got one day to get your shit together. Stark is in trouble, and I need you in on it.” He was gone in a swirl of leather and bad attitude.

The temptation to never move except to fuck his mate hadn’t gone away. Clint raised his face and bit Coulson on the chin hard enough to make him yowl.

“What was that for?” Coulson wanted to spank him, and fuck him.

“Because I can.” Clint grinned, sitting up and yanking out his IV in one smooth motion. In a blink, he was gone to the shower. Coulson heard the water turn on, and he rubbed his face, glad there wasn’t blood, but it still hurt. “I guess we do smell.”

The door opened again, and it was Ronald, who took out Coulson’s IV the proper way before shooing him towards the water. “Stinks like a ruthouse in here!”

Blushing a little, Coulson pounced on his mate in the shower and gave him a good smack on the ass.

“Couple more like that and you’re going to have to find out if your dick still works.” Clint just grinned, soaping Coulson from head to toe. “Your leg looks better.”

“So does yours.” Coulson ran his slippery hands all over his mate and pulled him close for a long hug. “Your life becomes mine,” he said in a quiet voice, still having a hard time believing he’d gotten what he wanted.

Clint slid to his knees. “For you, only you.”

********

Clint slid to his knees. “For you, only you.”

Coulson held him close. “Thank you.”

And that, right there, was why Clint knew his choice had been a good one. He surged up and kissed Coulson on the mouth. “Let’s go save Stark’s ass.”

********

The end

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get a beta for this, so feel free to tell me about mistakes. I will fix them happily. This story (using that term very loosely) went places I didn't expect. Oh, well.


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